


On Samhain Eve

by crazynadine, EG Challenge Submissions (6mgs7)



Series: the cauldron born [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: #EGChallenge3, #Halloween, #gallavich, AU: Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, Au: magic, Aura Reading, Boys Kissing, Divination, Drinking, Family Bonding, Flirting, Love at First Sight, M/M, Magic, Non-Bipolar Ian, OOC Mickey, OOC ian, Oral Sex, Parties, Rituals, Samhain, Spirits, Wicca, Witches, coven vibes, crystals and herbs, empath!mickey, hereditary witchcraft, pagan gods & goddesses, psychic powers, psychic!ian, soul mates, spell casting, tarot reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 18:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7/pseuds/EG%20Challenge%20Submissions
Summary: For the rest of the world it's called Halloween, but for witches like Ian and Mickey it's Samhain. A sacred time of year to commune with the dead. Ian and Mickey have both been invited to a very special ritual, and no witch's intuition will be able to predict what will transpire.as above, so belowblessed be





	On Samhain Eve

**Author's Note:**

> glossary:
> 
> chalice: wiccan ritual cup
> 
> athame: wiccan ritual knife
> 
> major arcana cards: The Major Arcana cards are the most recognizable and impactful cards in a Tarot deck. Major Arcana cards reveal messages about the bigger picture of your life and its long-term direction.
> 
> sabbat: any of eight neo-pagan religious festivals commemorating phases of the changing seasons.
> 
> esbat: ritual observance of the full moon
> 
> dumb supper: a silent meal meant to foster communion with the spirit realm
> 
> familiar: animal guides considered to be supernatural beings that assist witches with magic
> 
> Rod: a conception of supreme God of the universe and of all its gods in Slavic Native Faith 
> 
> Brigid: ancient celtic goddess of the poetic arts, crafts, prophecy, and divination
> 
> Lugh: celtic warrior savior god
> 
> samhain ritual from paganlibrary.com

Ian takes a deep breath, centering himself. He closes his eyes, imagining a bright white light encircling his body, his being. He feels a warmth building in his body, starting in the center of his chest and radiating outwards. He smiles, surrendering to the feeling. He settles better on his knees in front of his altar, arms out, hands up to accept the power he's being given.

His cast his eyes across his altar, it's a jumbled mess of crystals and half burned candles, incense ash covering the black altar cloth.

The silver of his chalice and athame are tarnished, but he likes it that way. It gives his tools a history. They are an extension of himself, after all, it makes sense they'd be a little worse for wear.

The flickering light from his quarter candles dance across the space, adding to the magical mood of Ian's morning ritual. The smell of sage is heavy in the air, bolstering Ian's heightened state of mind.

"Great Goddess Brigid, I call to you this morning. Bless me today, and all days, as I work to honor you in all I do." he bows his head, listening for any whispers. His godess speaks to him constantly, but his clearest messages come in these early morning rituals. He likes to start his day with a bit of devotion. Always leaves him with a clear head and an open heart. Two things that are imperative for a witch like him.

He closes his eyes as he picks up his tarot cards. Today is an important day, and he wouldn't dream about leaving the house without a little guidance from the spirit realm.

Ian is a hereditary witch, meaning it's in his blood. His family came to America during the potato famine. But just because they landed on American soil without a single worldly possession, that doesn't mean they left their craft in the old country. Ireland was rich with pagan tradition before the Christians came in and tried to destroy their history. Destroy their power.

Of course, it was impossible to douse the flame entirely. Witchcraft is a living, breathing thing. It's as much a part of Ian as his blood, or his green eyes. He smiles to himself as he shuffles his cards.

Each witch has their own special talent, something that sets them apart from others like them. His sister Debbie is a wiz with plants. She has a thriving garden in their back yard, and makes a pretty penny selling herbs and vegetables. She's most at home in the kitchen, mixing up incense or salves. She can fix almost any ailment with a few herbs and some whispered words.

Fiona and Lip own and operate a small occult shop in the center of the city. The store is wedged between a cigar shop and a high end thrift store. Fiona does private readings there. She's a medium, able to pierce the veil between this world and the next, sending messages back and forth from the spirit realm. She makes a lot of money doing this, but that is secondary to the relief and happiness she sees on her clients' faces when they hear from their lost loved ones.

Lip is the alchemist of the family. He is a master spell caster, and brings in a lot of money selling ready-made spells and enchantments. Any real witch knows that the most powerful spells are the ones you cast yourself. You imbibe the spell and it's ingredients with your own essence, your own intention. But the people wandering in off the streets looking for a love spell, or a money spell, or a spell to help them in court,  don't have the time or the experience to do it all on their own. So Lip does it for them. Even if the spell doesn't work, you can always blame it on the practitioner not focusing hard enough. Lip makes a mint.

Carl and Liam are too young still, to know what their talent will be. It usually reveals itself around the sixteenth birthday. Although Carl has shown a natural affinity towards animals, so perhaps he'll be a whisperer, someone who can converse with animals of all kinds. Ian would love to have a whisperer in the family.

Ian himself is a reader. He read cards, stones, runes, uses the pendulum. All of these things are facets of the same stone. Ian uses these tools to read what the future may hold, what roads are laid out before a person, and what obstacles they may encounter on their journey. Ian is happy with his gift. He works in the shop with his sibling, giving reading and sometimes working the counter. Their customers are a mix of witches like them, pagans like Wiccans Druids or Heathens, and regular people off the street looking to spice up their lives.

But the shop is closed today. It is the highest of High Holidays in his Craft today.

Today is Samhain.

Or, as most people call it, Halloween.

Samhain is an ancient Celtic tradition, which means this incredible holiday stems straight from Ian's ancestors. It is the time of year when the veil between the the world of the living and the dead is at it's thinnest, and it's easiest to communicate with the dead.

It's also a good night for spell casting, and prophecy work. Psychics like Ian are in high demand on Samhian, but he's got plans.

Every year, Ian's family coven heads down to Shelia's farm at Sacred Grove for a big Sabbat Circle. The Gallaghers are no longer part of Shelia's Crow Moon Coven. Shelia, a friend of the family and the High Priestess of the coven, had a falling out with Grammy Gallagher long before even Fiona was born. Grammy left the coven, and forbade her family from joining it. So the Gallagher children had formed their own coven, drawing immense power from their shared bond, and their ancestors.

Sometimes Ian thinks it would be nice to be part of a bigger coven. The camaraderie that comes with that is quite alluring. Witches are at their best when they are surrounded by like minded people. The power is intensified, and the love in the circle is palpable.

But none of that matters, because even though Grammy Gallagher is long gone, the Gallagher children have not been invited into Shelia's coven. They have been invited to the ritual tonight, though. So Ian's going to count that as a win.

Ian draws his attention back to his cards, clearing his mind and focusing his intent on his reading. He clears his throat, focusing on his breathing before he speaks. Once his mind is clear and open, he recites his opening prayer.

"Love surrounds me, faith supports me, wisdom guides me. I ask my guides today: What do I need to see or understand on this Samahain eve. Guide me."

He cuts the deck once, before laying out three cards.

Ian gasps. He pulled three major arcana cards. That is almost unheard of, even for a seasoned reader like Ian.

The Fool. The Lovers. and Death.

Some serious, heavy shit is about to go down.

Ian runs his fingers along the cards while his guides speak to him.

Ian is in for a serious change, an upheaval in his life that will start him on a journey. A journey that will change him in ways he's never experienced. Ian will never be the same after all is said and done. From the ashes of his old life he will blossom a new existence, one he could never predict, not even with all the tools at his disposal. And out of this new life he will find The One, the other half of his soul, the only person on the planet that is meant just for Ian.

Ian's breath catches in his throat, and he can feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He can feel the Goddess all around him, blanketing him in warmth and love, whispering to him that this future laid out in the cards is his for the taking, if only he will be like The Fool, and take that first step into the unknown.

Ian bows his head, tears streaming down his face.

"I will. Thank you, thank you. I will."

 

***

 

Mickey had always hated being a witch.

To be fair, he hated everything about his life, and witchcraft just happened to fall under the umbrella of 'shit I can't control', which automatically made it something Mickey couldn't tolerate.

Mickey was born into this. At least he was when his mother, Anya was still alive. You can't escape it, if you are a hereditary witch. And Mickey's mother's family has been pagan since the dawn of time, if you believe the stories. His mother's family is said to descend from Rod himself. Mickey finds the name amusing, given his proclivities.

But it's not a laughing matter, and after Anya died, Terry had put a stop to any and all witchcraft in his house. Unless, of course, it could be used to line his pockets.

So it came to be that the Milkovich children could not celebrate the moon phases, or any High Holiday, but could use their innate powers to fleece the elderly or pull a bank heist with no witnesses. They could use their magic to bring in money, but not for simple things like easing the ache of their mother's absence, or putting food in their bellies. Unless it brought money, drugs, or booze into the house, that shit was forbidden.

That didn't stop Mickey, though. The peace and power he felt when performing a ritual was too compelling. He couldn't just give it up. So he practiced in secret. With his older brother and his sister, he kept his mother's tradition alive.

His father is in jail now anyway, so his opinions don't mean shit anymore.

Mickey doesn't hate being a witch so much these days.

The Milkovich children had done pretty well in Terry's absence. They don't talk much about their father, or the circumstances surrounding his incarceration. The fact of the matter is, after Mickey and Iggy had taken a serious beating at the hands of their father, over some botched check cashing scam, Mickey had cast a Karma Spell on his father, ensuring that any bad deeds he committed were revisited on him with a vengeance. It was an enhanced version of the natural law, and it was brutal as fuck. 

The spell came to fruition not long after Mickey cast it.

One night, Terry had been out drinking, and found himself in a fist fight with a group of Russian witches from another coven. He hit their High Priest with a beer bottle, smashing glass all over the man's head. With the shattered bottle in his hand, Terry swung on the High Priest, slashing his throat. The witch fell to the floor, clutching his bleeding throat.

With a room full of witnesses, Terry's fate was sealed. He was sentenced to twenty years in jail.

Not only was Terry punished by the court system, but he was excommunicated from the witch community as well. Taking the life of another witch is the highest of crimes in the pagan world. Once Terry was sent away he was well and truly alone. He had no support from his family, blood or magical.

The day Terry was sent away for good, Mickey knelt in front of his altar, tossing his herbs into his mortar, mixing them with his finger before grabbing up his pestal and grinding them to dust.

Basil, bay, cinnamon and lavender. All herbs associated with gratitude. Mickey had burned the herbs, while whispering chants of thanks to Porewit, the Slavic god of justice. Wave after wave of gratitude washed over him as the fact that his father was gone for good solidified in his mind.

That was about six months ago now, and the Milkovich children have been blossoming in Terry's absence ever since. They are finally free to practice their magic openly. Live their lives openly. Which is more meaningful to Mickey than his siblings.

After Terry was out of their lives, Mickey had told his siblings his most well guarded secret. That he was gay. He was utterly terrified, Terry's hateful rhetoric whirling through his brain as he spoke the words.  He was suprised to find that neither Mandy nor Iggy gave a single shit about who he took to bed. Mickey was relieved, he didn't know what he would have done if he'd been disowned by the only family he had.

Mickey has known he was gay since he was eleven years old. He had kept it hidden as well as he could, never acting on any of his impulses. But once Terry was gone, Mickey had felt a freedom he'd never known was possible. He went a little wild for a bit there, making his way through half the twinks in Boystown before he settled down. It was never more than a quick fuck, Mickey had no desire to fall in love. Especially not with some random fag who could never know the real Mickey.

Mickey can't imagine ever being with someone who wasn't also a witch. Magical living was such a huge part of Mickey's life, especially now that his father's gone. There's no way he'd ever make a life with someone who didn't know what an Esbat was, or how to mix a protective oil. He didn't want to be with someone he couldn't share this important part of his life with.  He'd spent too much of his life denying who and what he is, be that a witch or a gay man. He's not going to do that again, not even for love.

Not that there are a lot of gay witches out there for Mickey to choose from. There is no magical Grindr. No witchy hook up sites. If there are other gay witches in the Chicago pagan circle, Mickey doesn't know them.

It's not like Mickey and his siblings have made a habit of socializing with other witches anyway. His father had forbidden it, and even though he's been gone for a while now, his reputation precedes him, and Mickey's family suffers for it.

They are not invited to witch gatherings like the other family covens are. The Milkovich children have been ostracized from their people for years now, and even though Terry is no longer a problem for them, the other covens in the area remember what he did, and continue to punish his children for his crimes.

Like tonight. Samhain. One of the most important nights to any witch, and as such there is a huge celebration planned. All covens in the area are always invited. Mickey's family is not. Hasn't been since his mother died. Mickey tries not to let it bother him, being ostracized like this by his own people. He blames his father, rightly so. But what's done is done.

So Mickey and his siblings will celebrate on their own, like they always do.

Mickey had just emerged from his usual pre-ritual bath. It's important for a witch to go into a ritual with a clear mind, clear energy and a clean body. Baths were an uncommon occurrence growing up, thanks to Terry's irresponsibility and the family's constant lack of hot water. Their magic had always suffered for it, also. Dirty hands and muddled energy leads to unpredictable magical outcomes. That's how Iggy lost all his hair one winter, trying cast a spell to increase body hair. (Mickey still doesn't understand why Iggy would want MORE body hair, but that's besides the point.)

Mickey's hair is still wet, the scent of sandalwood, frankincense and myrrh wafting off his pink skin. He feels renewed, and open to the magic stirring the air on this enchanted day. He smiles to himself as he pulls a clean shirt over his head. Just some basic clothes, his special ritual wear can wait until after his work for the day is done.

"Iggy! I'm going to the farmer's market. Do you need anything? Where's Mandy?" Mickey hollers, hoping wherever his brother is, he can hear him so he doesn't have to leave his room.

Mickey's personal altar is set up for the holiday. They have a bigger family altar in the living room, where their bigger rituals are performed, all three of them together. But Mickey's personal altar is where he works his own magic. Private rites that his sibling have no part in.

Mickey's family coven is small. Just himself, Mandy, and Iggy. Joey has left the family coven to marry a Catholic girl, leaving behind his siblings and his birthright in favor of being baptized and marrying into that church. Mickey didn't like it, but it was his brother's life. Mickey's not the only Milkovich child to gain freedom from his father's absence.

Colin, on the other hand, has left the country all together. Gone back to Ukraine, to learn the Old Ways from  Anya's family. There is so much to be said about learning magic on your ancestral grounds. While Colin was over there, studying with the family's orignial coven, he met and married a powerful witch. Katyra was a beautiful woman, in the photos his brother sent home. Colin was happy, and his magic was flourishing in the homeland. He made Mickey promise to come visit some day soon.

Mickey smiles, totally awed by how far his family has come in the short time his father's been gone. Maybe there's hope for them yet.

"What?" Iggy asks, walking into Mickey's room to find him sitting cross-legged on the floor, writing in a notebook while going through jars of herbs on a low shelf by his altar.

"I said I'm going to the farmer's market." Mickey replied, not looking up from his work. He needed quite a few things for the ritual he's planning. "Where's Mandy? Do you guys need anything special?"

"Mandy's out back, tending to the god damn garden. Got to get it winterized before the frost comes. And you know I don't need anything. You're the planner in this family."

Mickey laughed, shaking his head. It was true. His brother was a good witch, powerful in his own right, but his magic was always secondary to him. Iggy was more concerned with chasing tail and brewing beer. The only spells his brother cast were to enchant his booze, making it stronger, more powerful, less likely to cause a hangover. Mickey couldn't fault him for that, the family brew was some good shit.

He's trying his hand at some magical weed this year. The jury's still out on that....

"Fine. I'm gonna go now then. Can you please at least bring in the marigolds and chrysanthemums? For the altar?"

Iggy rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever. I'll bring in your faggy flowers."

"Watch your mouth, prick. Liking what I like don't make me a bitch, and I will still kick your ass."

Iggy chuckled, putting his hands up. "Okay, okay. Sorry Mick."

Mickey nodded, standing from his spot on the floor and grabbing up his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder and sitting on his bed so he could slip his sneakers on. He stood up, shooing his brother out of his room so he could make his way to the front door. His hand was resting on the doorknob when Iggy called his name from the hallway.

"What?" Mickey asked, turning around, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'll bring in your flowers, and sorry about sayin' they were faggy. You know I don't give a shit who you bang, right? I'm not Terry, man."

Mickey nodded, clearing his throat. "Thanks." he muttered. "I'll be back soon." with that he is out the door and walking down the street. He could take the L, but he likes to be out in the open air as much as possible.

As he walks, he lights up a cigarette, going over his list in his mind once more. He has Rosemary at home, but he's out of Mugwart and Blessed Thistle. The flowers are taken care of, but he needs at least two pomegranates and some pumpkins, gourds, and corn stalks.

As he walks, he ticks off all the items he needs. He's so immersed in his thoughts, he's caught off guard as a wave of rage washes over him. His fists clench and his jaw tightens.

He wants to fucking KILL someone.

Mickey shakes his head, realizing right away what is wrong. He left in such a rush, he didn't bother to shield himself.

Mickey is an empath. Each witch is born with a special gift, something to set them apart from the other witches in their coven. Mandy is an Green witch. Her magic stems from the earth. Plants and herbs and flowers. She has a magical herbal remedy for every ailment. Physical, emotional, spiritual, no matter. She used to cook up magical cures for the wounds Terry inflicted on Mickey, that is why he has no scars on his body from the years of abuse he endured.

Iggy hasn't worked hard enough to discover his true talent, content to be an eclectic witch; proficient in all types of magic, but never excelling at any one discipline.

Mickey, well, Mickey is an empath. It's a curse more than a gift most days. If he does not properly shield himself, he absorbs the emotions of the people around him. Hence why he suddenly feels so murderous all of the sudden. His eyes sweep the streets until he finds the source of his problem.

There is a man walking a few steps in front of him. His aura is blood red, muddy around the edges. Someone has hurt this man deeply, and now he is out for revenge. Mickey doesn't know what happened, he can't read minds, he can only feel. And he feels like he could rip someone's throat out right now, and be happy about it.

Mickey takes a deep breath, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. He could send calming vibrations to the irate man, but it's not Mickey's place to interfere, especially since he's not been asked. It's taboo to cast magic on someone without express permission. That was one of Terry's many crimes that ended in his undoing.

So Mickey does the only thing he can in this situation. He makes his way to the edge of the sidewalk, leaning up against a brick building. He watches the angry man continue on his way, the further away he gets, the calmer Mickey feels. Once the anger and rage has dissipated, Mickey slips his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the black tourmaline he always carries.  It's one of the most protective stones he owns, good for shielding Mickey from the negative energies surrounding him. He broke two black tourmalines while living with Terry. They shattered to smithereens under the weight of protecting Mickey from his father's rage and resentment.

Mickey grips the stone tight, while imagining a sphere of white light surrounding him. With each breath he takes, the sphere grows stronger, brighter. White, iridescent light all around him, protecting him from the energies and emotions of those around him. He closes his eyes tight, whispering his incantation as he rubs his tattooed fingers along the facets of his stone.

"Goddess of all, goddess of light. Shield and protect me day and night. Positive feelings alone come near, all others wither and disappear. So mote it be." Mickey chant the charm over and over, pinching his eyes shut as he feels the power of the blessing flow through him. He opens his eyes, relieved to find he can't feel anyone else's shit flying at him.

The charm will only last so long, however, so he better get a move on. He wants to get this shopping trip over as soon as possible, so he can get back to his work at the house. A lot goes into a proper Samhain celebration, and he hasn't even finished the ancestral altar. He has to hurry.

He makes his way to Sheila's as fast as he can, moving up the sidewalk, sidestepping slow moving assholes as best he can. He makes an concerted effort not to touch anyone, not wanting to accidentally ruin his protection spell. Sometimes, touching someone will give Mickey a direct line to their emotions, and that's the last thing he wants right now.

Mickey doesn't come by Sheila's so much anymore. Growing up, before his mother died, Mickey's family was part of Sheila's coven. Shelia is the High Priestess of the Crow Moon Coven, at the Sacred Grove. All the oldest, most powerful Pagan families in Chicago were part of the coven. Meeting together on Shelia's property out in the woods for all High Holidays and Esbats. After Anya died, Terry had pulled the family out of the coven and thrust them into a life of crime.

Mickey's sure his family would no longer be welcome in the Sacred Grove anymore, not after the crimes they've committed. Mickey can admit, even if only to himself, that he misses being part of a larger coven. The power that comes from a group that big is a heady, compelling feeling. Even though he was still very young when he was part of it, those rituals changed him forever, taught him to harness the power within. He misses it.

Just one more thing Terry took from his children.

But Shelia holds no ill will toward Mickey or his siblings. She was good friends with Anya, they had practiced magic together long before Anya met Terry, and everything started to fall apart.

"Mickey!" Shelia's warm, excited voice draws Mickey out of his thoughts. He'd only just crossed into the market. She must have felt him coming. The market itself is a makeshift little set up, card tables and terra cotta pots scattered around Shelia's back yard. There are other people milling about the rows of plants and vegetables, some witches, some just people from the neighborhood, drawn in by the organic fare.

Mickey smiles, readily accepting the bone crushing hug Shelia wraps him in. Mickey's surprised by the warm reception, he was sure he would be on the High Priestess's shit list, after what his father had done not too long ago.

"Hey Shelia." Mickey says. Shelia releases him for the hug, but keeps a firm grip on his face with her hands. Shelia can be a bit odd, but that's to be expected of someone with so much power.  Her eyes take him in, from his black combat boots to his black jeans, ripped black t shirt. He's sure he looks like a withcy cliche, dressed all in black. But he likes what he likes, and from the smile playing on Shelia's lips, she doesn't object to his gothic attire.

Shelia's energy passes through Mickey's shield easily. She's radiating happiness and a weird sort of energy. Fizzy and bubbly, like ginger ale. It simmers inside Mickey and he smiles, totally involuntarily.

"What brings you to me today?" Shelia asks, eyes bright and wild.  "We've missed you so! How are Mandy and Iggy? Are you here for Mugwart? I've got a specially charged batch, straight from the Britsh Isles. Let me get you some, on the house." Her exicted, high pitched voice soothes Mickey immensely. If it were anyone else, he'd run in the other direction, but with Shelia, it's welcomed.

"You don't have to do that, Shelia, really." Mickey says. He's not here for charity. "I just need a few things for the Sabbat. You know how it is."

"Oh! Yes, yes. We have some gorgeous pumpkins, you must take one of those, and pomegranates! We have wild mushrooms! The good kind." she gives him an exaggerated wink, eliciting a chuckle from Mickey. "Are you doing a dumb supper? I'm sure your mother will love that."

Mickey used to find it off putting, how Shelia would talk about his mother like she was still around, still alive, but the older he gets, the more he realizes it's true. Anya is still with him, in all he does.

"Nah, no dumb supper this year." Mickey shakes his head as Shelia leads him through the rows of plants. "It's just the three of us now, no need for a big elaborate ritual."

Shelia spins around in the narrow isle, moving so fast that Mickey bumps right into her. "Well, that just won't do." she shakes her head vehemently. "Your father is gone now." she says with disgust. "Praise the gods. And now that he's gone, are you following The Law again?"

The Law. 'An it Harm None, Do what thou Will.'

The only hard and fast rule of Witchcraft.

Do whatever you want, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone.

Terry never followed that law. He took what he wanted, anyone and anything else be damned. That's why he is where he is now.

Mickey nodded, rubbing at his bottom lip with his thumb. "Yeah, Shelia, we are. You know we never wanted to do those things. The karma of it all was punishment enough."

And that was true. For every bad act Mickey and his family committed, it was always returned on them three times as bad. Terry never cared, as long as he got what he needed. Terry had used strong protective magic to shield himself from the Karmic Law, happy to let his children take the brunt of The Law's reprisals.

If Mickey stole a hundred dollars from some lady's purse, someone would break into their house and steal thousands of dollars worth of goods. If Iggy sold someone a fake love potion, the next girl he fucked would become a violent, obsessed stalker. If Mandy sold someone enchanted basil, telling them is was high grade kush, she'd end up overdosing on some basic weed, hallucinating and clawing at her own skin until she was covered in blood.

Using their magic to swindle people had never brought them anything but pain. And now that Terry was gone, the siblings had gone back to following The Law, and were all the better for it.

"Oh Mickey, you don't know how happy that makes me. Your mother would be so pleased. She always knew you were meant for more. I so wish she could be here to share this with us. I am sure she is watching over you, you know, so so proud." Shelia reached out, her thin hand wrapping around Mickey's wrist as she stared at him with glistening eyes. Shelia's love for his mother was hanging around her in a cloud. Mickey could feel it, clear as day, see it in her aura. Bright pink with golden flecks floating in it. Shelia's love for Anya was beautiful.

Mickey nodded, clearing his throat. Sometimes he forgets, how close his mother and Shelia were, before Terry ruined it all.

"You must come tonight." Sheila says out of nowhere. They had finally made it down to the pumpkins, Mickey on his knees in the dirt, picking through the pile of orange gourds. Mickey's eyes shot up from examining the fair, locking eyes with Shelia. She was standing over him, wide happy smile on her face.

"What?" he whispered. There's no way she means what he thinks she does. "You mean...."

"Yes, Mickey." Shelia nods, still smiling. "I think it's about time you come home." she took a step closer, running her fingers through his hair as he knelt before her. The symbolism of the moment was not lost on Mickey. Here he was, on his knees before the High Priestess, being invited back into the coven he was ripped away from.

"You want us back?" he whispered, unable to wrap his mind around it. "After everything we did?" The shame of what Terry had forced them to do was heavy on Mickey's soul, and just the chance of forgiveness was making it hard to breathe.

"We always wanted you back." Shelia assured him. "We had to wait for you to believe you deserved to come back. Do you believe it?" she took Mickey's hand, pulling him to stand so they were eye to eye again.

Mickey nodded, but averted his eyes. "I want to." he replied. "I want to believe we deserve a second chance."

"Well, then come tonight. Bring an offering, bring a dish for the dinner. Bring your ancestral items, bring a photo of Anya. I would be very pleased to see that. Bring your brother and sister. Come home, Mickey. We have been waiting for you." with that, Shelia kissing his cheek gently and moved to step around him. "Take whatever you need for your family ritual, no cost. Welcome back, Mikhailio."

Mickey was left standing there, stunned. He dropped a pomegranate he'd been holding into his basket so he could run both his hands down his face in disbelief. This was the last thing he expected to happen today.

The rest of his trip was a blur, unable to concentrate on anything but Shelia's words. He gathered up his things and started making his way back to the sidewalk, totally unaware of the set of  eyes following his every move.

 

***

 

"I'm so excited." Fiona says for what has the be the hundredth time. The Gallaghers are walking down a long winding path along the perimeter of the Sacred Grove Farm. This is Shelia's land, and if it were Ian's, he'd live out here all the time. He's not sure why Shelia keeps her house in the city, when she has this gorgeous property. Ian smooths his hands down his dark slacks before pulling at his red button up. He fixes his mask on the back of his head, not quite ready to wear it just yet.  It's common to dress up for these Sabbats, out of respect for the Craft, and the other practitioners. Ian will be surrounded by the best of the best of Chicago witches tonight, as well as witches in training and out of town guests of the collective covens.

Ian still can't believe Shelia still invites them. The fall out with Grammy had been intense and the ill will that followed was of epic proportions, spanning more than a decade now. Shelia still invited them, each year, even though Ian's not sure why. Every year, he's hopeful that this will be the year  they are asked to rejoin the coven, and every year he leaves disappointed. He doesn't even know what Grammy did that was so awful that it got his family tossed out on their asses. He wishes there was a way for him to make it right. He's hopeful tonight is the first step on the path of Ian's family rejoining their rightful circle.

"I'm excited too." Debbie says, skipping down the wooded path, dodging the acorns Carl and Liam are throwing at her with a laugh. Nothing is going to dampen her mood tonight, Ian is sure of that. She and Fiona are in matching black dresses, with long sheer sleeves and cinched waists. Fiona's got her hair braided, chrysanthemums weaved into the plaits. Debbie has a  big chunky amethyst necklace dangling low on her chest. The necklace once belonged to their mother, before she ran off with an English traveler fortune teller. That man wasn't even a real witch, just a hustler. Such a Monica thing to do.

Maybe that's why she killed herself. Ian remembers the day the family got the news. That she had hanged herself in the fortune teller's caravan. Ian can't say he was surprised.

Ian tells people he doesn't miss her, though if they bothered to look, they would know he's lying.

Ian finds himself wishing some days that it was his father that had died. Frank is as worthless a man as he is a witch. He comes and goes as he pleases, but he is mostly useless these days. He's lost any magical prowess he may have once had to the drink. An alcoholic can not practice magic, they don't have the focus or dedication required to cast a successful spell.

Ian hopes his poor parentage won't keep his family from being accepted back into the coven. He hopes Sheilia and the other witches of the coven can look past the Gallagher's shortcomings, and see the potential they posess. He knows they would be a good addition to the coven, he just needs to remind Shelia of that. She once loved them all like family. There's no way that kind of thing just disappears, right?

"Here we are." Lip says, taking one last drag of his cigarette before returning the butt to his pack. Littering on sacred land would be a very poor first impression.

Ian's eyes widen as he takes in the scene before him. The grove is in a valley between the house on the hill and a small mountain in the back yard. The area is spacious and wide, encircled by a large group of oak trees. There is a line of picnic tables spread along the far side of the circle, closest to the house. The tables are covered with home made dishes for the pre ritual meal. Ian sees pumpkin soup, irish potatoes, whole chickens, braised beef, baked apples, squash pie, Soul Cakes, meat pies, and gallons upon gallons of mulled wine and cider, as well as homebrew ale, which he will gladly partake of.

He watches as Debbie drops down some pumpkin pies his family made, along with a tray of candy apples for dessert and mugwart cheesecake bites.

It's a good spread, but Ian expects nothing less from the coven. They are just as good at cooking as they are at spell casting. And they certainly know how to party.

Once their offering for the dinner is placed on the table, the siblings split up. Lip goes looking for a second degree witchcraft student from one of the classes at their shop. He's been trying to bang her since she was a newbie, and he seems to think tonight is the night. Ian's not so sure. Fiona and Debbie go looking for their friends, surely wanting to make the most of the night's festivities. Carl makes his way to the border of the circle, most likely looking for animals to commune with, dragging Liam with him by his wrist. Carl would spend all his days with the animals, if he had his way. He doesn't know it yet, but Fiona's planning on finally letting him get a familiar this year. Not all witches have familiars, but for a witch like Carl, it's necessary. Ian thinks he's going to pick something wild, like a fox or a hawk, Fiona's convinced it's going to be a dog. Only time will tell, but Ian's been known to be right about these things.

As his siblings scatter on the breeze, Ian is left alone, standing in the middle of the barren field. He's got a goblet of pumpkin ale in his hand and a small smile on his face. His mind keeps getting drawn back to his morning reading.

He can't help but hope that the new journey he's about to embark on has something to do with the Crow Moon Coven. What he wouldn't give to be welcomed home. Not to mention the second half of the reading. The Lovers.

Ian's in no rush to meet his soulmate, or at least he thought he wasn't until that card appeared to him. He's been messing around here and there with a handful of boys. Some witches, some not. Some in the process of becoming witches. But none of them had really stoked that fire inside Ian, only serving to pass the time and keep him occupied. Ian feels a little bad, like he's using these men, but they don't complain about the arrangement, so who is he to rock the boat?

Ian is drawn to the far end of the circle, away from the hustle and bustle of the feast preparations. Away from the loud conversations and jovial banter, and toward the altar by the edge of the circle.

The altar is huge, easily seven feet long, made of stone. It has stood in this yard for much longer than any of the Gallagher children have been alive. On either side of the altar are two tall torches, already lit, burning bright in the dying sunlight. On the ground in front of the altar table is a large cauldron, full of sand, ready and waiting for tonight's ritual.

The altar is decorated in the colors of the holiday. It has a burnt orange altar cloth draped over the large stone table. The surface is covered with gourds of all colors, indian corn stalks and large candles, in red, orange and yellow. Carved pumpkins littered on the ground around the table. The altar itself is adorned with all manner of fall flowers. Beautiful mums and dahlias, crocuses and begonias.

He also sees a wide variety of powerful gemstones. Obsidian and smokey quartz obelisks on either side of the altar. Jet and amber spheres. A huge hematite and ruby pentacle take up the center of the altar, drawing the power to a central point.

Ian sees the pewter goblet in one corner, and the steel athame in the other. These are the tools of his practice, and he feels them singing with the power of generations of witches that came before him. He hums contentedly as he feels some of that power wash over him, soaking into his bones. His skin vibrates with it, and he smiles.

Ian runs his hands along the edge of the altar, inhaling deeply. He takes in the heady scent of the loose herbs strewn across the table top. He sees apple seeds and pine needles, rosemary, rue and candula. He sees wild mushrooms, mugwart and mandrake, hemlock cones, acorns and passion flowers. The aroma is overwhelming, and Ian feels his heart swell. There is so much power at this atlar already, and the ritual hasn't even begun yet.

He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out the photos he had slipped in there before he left the house. He pulls the pictures out, smoothing the corners as he scans the altar for a place to put them. The altar is already full of photos. Pictures of the Beloved Dead. That's what Samhain is really about.

On Samhain eve, it is known that the veil between the world of the living and the Otheworld, where the dead reside is at it's thinnest. That is the reason everyone is in costume tonight. Because not all spirits are benevalent, and the costumes and masks are said to confuse spirits that would do you harm.

Ian's not afraid of vengeful spirits. He's strong enough to ward them off, and the protective amulet he's wearing around his neck is enough to keep him safe on the night the dead walk the earth.

The witches gather tonight to honor those who have gone before them. From ancient ancestor to recently lost loved ones. The Beloved Dead. Ian sets the picture of his mother and Grammy Gallagher on the altar, hopeful that it's not disrespectful to honor these women here tonight. Ian wants to believe that any of their transgressions in life would have been forgiven in death.

Ian is hopeful that he will be able to connect with his mother tonight. He has been doing readings and casting runes and holding rituals to connect with her since she crossed over, all to no avail. He's not sure why he can't reach her, and it worries him. Fiona refuses to try and contact her, still very wounded by Monica's actions in her life. But Ian can't be that way. He forgave his mother long before she died. Now he just wants to know she's okay in the Otheworld. He is holding out hope that tonight is the night.

"Oh Ian, hello." Shelia's voice pulls Ian out of his revelry. He drops the photos on the altar, between a picture of Ghandi and one of Kurt Cobain and turns to face Shelia.

"Hello Shelia, I was just placing my beloved dead on the altar." Ian replies sheepishly, passing his empty goblet from one hand to the other. He needs a refill already.

Shelia's eyes move from Ian's face to the altar, where they stop on the picture of Grammy Gallagher.

"Ah, Peggy." she says lowly. "Do you know, Ian, what happened between us, to cause this rift between your blood family and your witch family?"

Ian shook his head, casting his eyes to his feet. He didn't know why, but he felt ashamed all of the sudden. Then, Shelia's hand was there, gripping his chin and tilting his head up so they were eye to eye again.

"Your grandmother thought she would make a better High Priestess. She wanted to take the Coven in a different direction. She wanted to expand, bringing in witches of little to no power, make them pay dues, take classes to increase their skills. She wanted to turn our coven into a scam school. You know as well as I do, you can make a witch, but you can not teach them skills that are not inherent."

Ian nodded again, knowing this was true. You can teach someone to read cards, but you can not teach someone to be psychic. You can teach someone how to perform magic, but you can not imbibe them with ancestral power.

"Your grandmother wanted to turn our craft into industry. She wanted to strip it of it's holiness and turn it into a commodity. I could not allow that. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Shelia." and he did. What she had just described was Ian's worst nightmare. To reduce their practice to something so cheap, to throw away hundreds of years of magic in favor of a couple dollars? The idea made Ian sick.

"I knew you would understand. That is why I am welcoming you back. My time is limited on this plane, Ian, and we need all the strong, honest witches we can get to carry on our traditions. Your family is part of that. Do you want to be part of that?"

Ian's eyes went wide, and he nodded his head vigorously. Was this what the cards had been alluding to? The big change? The road Ian could take that would alter his life forever? Ian's whole body was suddenly on fire, awash in a gentle warmth, starting in his core and flowing to his extremities. A sure sign that something big was coming. Ian moved on instinct, pulling Shelia to him  in a crushing hug.

" Yes." he wispered. "Oh, thank you Shelia. Thank you so much. You won't regret having us back."

Shelia chuckled, pulling back to look into Ian's earnest eyes. "Child, I already know I won't regret it. I can see our future, did you forget? I know all that is to come." she smiled at him. "I think you will be quite pleased with the path The Goddess has laid out for you." she gave him a wink and released him, her head snapping up and a frown appearing on her face as some kind of commotion picked up by the dirt driveway.

Ian was so caught up in what Shelia had said, he almost missed the chaos going on by the road. Almost.

There was screaming coming from the area next to the main house, where everyone was parking. Loud yelling and swearing as well as a chorus of voices. Ian moved quickly, wanting to stop any kind of confrontation before it could begin. Samhain was a holy night, and there was no place for violence of any kind in the Grove.

When he came upon the fracas he was humiliated to find his brother in the middle of it all. Two elders were holding him back as he struggled against their hold, kicking his feet, desperate to get to whoever he was so angry with.

Ian's eyes caught Fiona and Debbie standing near Lip, holding hands and looking as shameful as Ian felt.

There was a circle gathered around Lip and a trio of people, all clad in black, like most of the guests that night. The sun was setting, so Ian had to step closer to see who they were. His eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open.

No way. There's no way.

The Milkovich siblings. They are quite infamous in the witchy circles all around Chicago. Tales of their father, and the crimes he committed, magical and mundane, are the stuff of legend among Ian's people. He's surprised they dared to show their faces tonight, and he assumes that is the reason for Lip loosing his cool.

Ian makes his way over to his brother, helping him stand as the elders let go of him and back off, moving to stand next to Shelia, who looks very displeased at the display.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asks no one in particular. Her eyes are hard as she scans the group, waiting for an answer. At that moment Ian notices Karen, Shelia's daughter, standing next to Lip. She's smoothing her hand down his shirt, cleaning off dirt and bits of dry leaves he must have gathered in the aborted fight with the Milkovich brothers.

Ian doesn't like Karen very much, and he doesn't like seeing her preening all over his brother, but all that can wait, there is a more pressing issue.

Ian's eyes go to the Milkovich siblings, as he waits for an answer along with the rest of the group.

But they don't speak. They wait, like Shelia waits, eyes on Lip.

"What?" Lip asks, squaring his shoulders. He takes a step toward the Milkovich kids, eyes glued to the one in the middle. Ian's never really SEEN the Milkovich children, only heard about them. And as he looks upon them for the first time, he's immediately drawn to the one in the middle. The one who Lip seemingly wants to murder.

All three of them are attractive. The one on the left is the tallest, with blond hair swept off his face and a well tailored black suit on his body. He's giving Lip a disdainful look, arms crossed over his chest defiantly. There's a girl on the right. She's wearing a long, tight black dress, and has blood red highlights in her black hair, a few loose poppy blossoms tucked into her flowing curls. Her make up is impeccably done, and she's got chunky lapis lazuli jewelry on her wrists. She's got a murderous expression on her face, which is only intensified by her red lips and hard blue eyes.

But the other two fade into the background as Ian's eyes fall on the man in the middle. Ian swears he's not breathing as he takes in the man for the first time. He's shorter than his brother, which would make him a few inches shorter than Ian. He's wearing a black button up shirt, tucked into tight black jeans, ending in scuffed black combat boots. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, and the contrast between the pale skin stretched across his bulging muscles and the black fabric of the shirt is doing something very strange to Ian. His eyes travel up the body of the newcomer, across the tattoos on his knuckles, up his broad chest to the pale column of his throat. Ian gasps, actually gasps when he reaches his face. He's got the blackest hair Ian's ever seen, and the brightest blue eyes. His face is hard, like he's ready to do battle, but still he says nothing.

"What?" Lip repeats when no one speaks, and Ian remember, oh yeah, there was almost a fight. So he pushes down this odd attraction to the newcomer, and moves to stand next to his brother. "You think you can just show up here? After what you did? You're not welcome here, so get the fuck out."

The Milkovich children still don't speak, and Ian is impressed by their self control. The hot one in the middle takes a single step forward, eyebrows raised as his eyes fall on Shelia.

"Philip, I invited them." Shelia says. "I am hopeful that Mickey, Mandy and Iggy will come back to our coven, much like your own family. Why is that a problem for you?"

"You don't know what he did." Lip roars, moving on the one in the middle again. "Tell them, Mickey, tell them what you did."

The sexy one, Mickey apparently, scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Since my ol' man got locked up, we've been on the straight and narrow. No scams, no crimes. We live by the Law now." his siblings nodded on either side of them, and Ian could tell that Mandy, the girl, was close to tears.

"That's not what I'm talking about." Lip seethed. "Karen told me what you did. What you tried to do."

"Karen?" Mickey replied, clearly confused. "The blond?" he motioned toward Karen with his thumb.

"Don't act like you don't know!" Lip bellowed. "You attacked her, tried to force yourself on her, today after the market. She told me, you pervert."

Mickey laughed at that. Threw his head back and laughed, long and hard. "Is that what you're telling people?" he directed at Karen, who was now red-faced with anger and embarrassment. Mickey turned to Shelia then, taking a single step forward. "When I left you at the market today, this girl came up to me on the street. She wanted to hook up, a quick fuck, whatever." he shrugs. "No offense, Shelia." he added on, sensing a bond between the two.

Daughter.

The word came into Mickey's mind quickly, and he understood. "Oh shit," he looked from Karen to Shelia. "She's your Karen? I haven't seen her since we were small children. Well, anyway, she wanted to fuck around, but I turned her down. See, I'm fucking gay, and Karen doesn't have a single thing I want or need. Again, no offense. But I must've hurt her feelings, or whatever, if she's sending her pit bull after me." He turned to glare at Lip "And that protective, white knight shit is flowing off you in fucking tidal waves, so can you tone it down a bit? Your aggression is making me nauseous."  Mickey shrugged his shoulders, moving to stand between his siblings again.

Ian felt that jolt again. Like liquid electricity flowing through his body as Mickey openly admitted to the entire coven that he was gay. Ian chalked it up to shock, although he knew deep down it was more than that....

"Karen, come here." Shelia said. Her daughter reluctantly moved to stand in front of her mother. "What is the meaning of all this?"

Karen scowled, angry at being put on the spot. "I was just trying to be nice, then he grabbed me and pushed me up against the building, tried to put his hand up my skirt. It was disgusting. A Milkovich has no right to touch me. They don't belong here." she spat, casting a murderous glare back toward the siblings.

Shelia said nothing, just put her hand out. Karen rolled her eyes, but placed her hand in her mother's. Shelia covered their clasped hands with her free one, closing her eyes and slowing her breath. After a moment, she released her daughter and cast her eyes toward the Milkovich siblings again.

Ian noticed Mickey didn't look nervous, standing before the High Priestess accused of such a heinous act.

"Mickey, I'm so sorry Karen started all of this. It is clear to me that she is lying." Shelia shot a look toward her daughter, who was pouting now, before looking back to Mickey. "Please accept my deepest apologies. You are welcome at my Sabbat, as well as in my circle."

Mickey nodded, clearly still very uncomfortable.

"If anyone here has a problem with the Milkovich siblings, you deal with it. Work it out amongst yourself, because they are my guests, and part of this coven now. And I will not tolerate violence on this holy day. Am I understood?" she asked, leveling the entire crowd with a stern glare.

No one said anything, obviously. If they had a problem with Mickey or his siblings, they kept it to themselves.

"Good." Shelia nodded, clasping her hands together. "Now lets get ready for this dinner. We are behind schedule now." she tisked, leaving the group and walking back toward the yard.

Ian's mind was reeling. What a strange way to start the Sabbat.

 

***

 

Mickey throws himself in front of the fire. Iggy is off in the woods with a kid from an English coven, smoking some of the family's special Sabbat weed. Mickey is not in the mood to be social, so he stayed behind. His sister has gone over to the altar, to place a photo of their mother with the other pictures of Beloved Dead. Mickey kind of wishes they had a photo of their grandmother, but family portraits were never a Milkovich tradition.

Mickey sits in front of the fire, a goblet of ale in his hands as his anger flows through him.

This, Mickey reminds himself, is why it is easier to only practice with his family. With his siblings, he doesn't have to worry about defending himself against slander. He doesn't have to out himself over and over. He doesn't have to worry about being accused of sexual assault, that's for sure.

Mickey knows he's not welcome here. Shelia may have a soft spot for him and his siblings, but the rest of the witches here do not. Mickey can feel their contempt radiating off the group in waves. He is sick with anger and disgust, and it's all coming from them, directed at him. He pulls his tourmaline out of his pocket, rubbing it between his fingers, desperate for it's protective energies to surround him. He focuses his gaze on the flames of the fire, imagining the flames surrounding him in a burning hot protective circle. He took some deep breaths, willing his circle to solidify around him, blocking out the hate and disgust that was being thrown at him from all directions.

Once he felt the dark energies fading away, he relaxed a little. It was almost time to eat, so he was just going to sit by the fire and drink until he was called to the table. No one would be bothering him, of that he was certain.

He was almost done with his drink, ready to get up and grab another when someone sat down on his left. The log he was seated on by the fire was long, and he was alone, so there was no reason for this newcomer to sit so damn close. He turned his head, ready to tell whoever it was to back the fuck up.

The words died on his tongue when he laid eyes on the man next to him.

It was Ian Gallagher. The brother of the guy Mickey almost stabbed earlier. If this kid was planning on finishing the fight, Mickey would throw down.

Although it seemed like a shame to fuck up a face so pretty.

"Can I help you? There are like literally a million other places for your ginger ass to sit." Mickey said, eyes locked on Ian's.

God, his eyes were so green, even in the low light of the fire. They almost glowed, dancing with energy.

Mickey felt a slight pull in his chest. Some emotion trying to penetrate his protective circle. It was clearly coming from Ian, but Mickey had no desire to feel it. He's had enough anger and hatred for one evening. Ian can keep his feelings.

Ian chuckled, and with that one sound, Mickey found himself inexplicably no longer angry. His defenses were up, but he could peculiarly still feel Ian's energies seeping into him. The kid had an exuberant energy. Happy and light and full of hope. It was intoxicating, and Mickey found himself letting his shield down a little more, hoping to absorb more of Ian's bright shiny aura.

"Want a refill?" Ian asked instead of answering his question. He held up a jug of mead, waving it around a little.

Mickey gave Ian a small smile, holding his goblet out for Ian to fill. He did, filling Mickey's cup first and then his own before placing the jug by his feet.

Ian took a sip of his drink, eyes trained on the fire, just like Mickey's. Ian's not sure what he's doing here, by the fire with this man while his family set up the big dinner. All he knows is the moment he laid eyes on the man, he felt drawn to him in a way he's never felt before. The image of the Lovers from his reading kept popping up in his mind, and he knew to follow his intuition when it gave him signals like this.

Ian knew the moment Karen opened her mouth that she was lying. Even before Mickey outed himself to the entire coven. He's surprised she even tried to lie, surrounded by so many people that would see right through her ruse. He supposes she thought herself more powerful than all of them put together.

Silly girl.

"I've never seen you at any of these things." Ian says, instead of bringing up the fight, like Mickey thought he would.

"Yeah, well, my ol' man forbade it. But he's gone now, so..."

"I heard about that." Ian nods, taking a sip of his drink. "Ballsy move, killing another witch like that."

"You mean stupid move. Prick thought he was untouchable. Looks like he was wrong." Mickey chuckled darkly.

"So are you guys coming back to the coven then?" Ian asks, suddenly wanting to know everything he can about this elusive witch. The Milkoivch clan is shrouded in mystery. Ian's heard all kinds of horrible stories. But gazing into this man's eyes, Ian's positive every bad word he's ever heard has been a lie.

"Seems to be the case." Mickey nods, smiling. He's heard a few things about the Gallagher clan, but nothing bad. The family has a good reputation amongst the witches, unlike Mickey's family. He hopes someday to put those rumors to rest and maybe have a reputation like the Gallaghers. "You guys coming back too? Why'd you leave in the first place? Aren't you Gallaghers like the golden children of the coven?"

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. "Our family took us out after my gram had a falling out with Shelia. We are just coming back, just like you guys."

"The prodigal children return." Mickey chuckles, shaking his head.

"I'm surprised you understand that reference." Ian laughed, shocked.

"I'm not some uneducated thug." Mickey snapped, irritated that Ian would insinuate Mickey's stupid. It's true, Mickey didn't finish school, pulled out by his father to pursue the art of crime and violence. But that doesn't mean Mickey was stupid. He taught himself all kinds of shit, not just magic, and the idea that Ian saw him as some kind of imbecile hurt more than Mickey was willing to admit.

"I never said you were." Ian replied softly. "I don't know a thing about you."

"Damn right you dont." Mickey replied hotly.

"I'd like to." Ian said lowly, his eyes holding Mickey's. "I'd like to know you better."

Mickey smiled ruefully, running his hand over his mouth and shaking his head. "You say that now."

So they talked. They talked about growing up in the neighborhood, so close, yet so far apart. They talk about their childhoods, and all the trouble they got into, magical or otherwise. They talked about their siblings and how they spend their time. Conversation flowed easily between the two and Ian found himself getting drawn further and further under Mickey's spell.

"I can feel you." Mickey says after a lull in conversation. Ian had been staring at the fire, but at the other man's words, his eyes snap up, meeting Mickey's in the firelight.

"You what?"

"I can feel you." Mickey repeats, a small smirk on his lips. "You see, I'm an empath, so I have this bad habit of picking up on the energies and emotions of those around me. I'm a bit of a psychic too, but I've got a long way to go before I can call myself a master." he shrugged, taking a long sip of his ale before placing the mug on the ground so he could pull a cigarette out of his pants pocket. He lit one, taking a long pull off it before offering it to Ian, who took it with a nod of thanks.

"So you can feel other's emotions." Ian says, considering. "That must be exhausting."

"Oh, you have no idea." Mickey laughed. "I spend most of my time just shielding myself from the people around me. Even taking the El is a nightmare. People are so LOUD, even when they are sitting silent."

"If that's the case, then what am I feeling now?" Ian goaded, wanting to test the man in front of him. His lips curled into a smile as he shifted on the log to face Mickey better.

"Are you sure you want to ask me that?" Mickey laughed, taking the cigarette back and inhaling deeply before snuffing it out and tossing it into the fire.

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. "I knew you were a fake." he teased.

"You're nervous." Mickey replied, eyebrows raised. "But excited. You are full of anticipation, on pins and needles, like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Ian gaped at him, totally blown away that Mickey had read him so well. He's known a few empaths, through the coven or classes, but none that could hit so spot on. It was usually a vague feeling they got, not as precise or specific.

"Oh, and you're horny." Mickey added on as an afterthought. "Like, you are so turned on right now."

"Oh my god." Ian groaned, putting his hand up. "You can't possibly know that."

"Oh, so everything else I just said was correct, but the minute I start talking about you needing to get your pipes cleaned, I'm a charlatan? I see how it is."

Ian could feel a hot blush breaking out on his skin, thankful for the low light of the fire for disguising it.

Ian decided in that moment to take a chance. Mickey had already told the entire coven he was gay, what harm could it do?

"So what if I am? Could you blame me?"

Mickey smirked, scooting a little closer to Ian on the log. One of the best things about being an empath is the ability to sense if someone would be a good match. Be it emotionally or physically, Mickey can usually tell straight away if a man is worth his time or effort.

And Ian was giving off very enticing vibes.

Mickey licked his lips, opening his mouth to reply, but was cut off when a young boy came barreling down the trail, skidding to a stop inches from the fire.

"Jesus, Carl!" Ian yelped, jumping up to grab the kid before he could topple head first into the blaze. In that moment, Mickey knew, this must be one of the younger Gallaghers. "You're going to set yourself on fire! Be careful."

"Eh." Carl waved him off. "Debbie's got a salve for that."

"Damn it Carl, you will still get burned. What do we always tell you?"

Carl groaned, pulling away from Ian's grasp. "Magic can't cure everything."

"Exactly." Ian nodded, ruffling his brother's hair. "Now what's so important?"

"They're serving dinner now. Shelia sent me to find you two. We're waiting. C'mon, I'm starved."

Ian chuckled, grabbing Carl's shoulders and turning him back toward the path. "We better be going then."

Mickey let out a long, slow breath, coming back to himself after his encounter with Ian. Mickey is usually much better at blocking out other people's emotions, especially with his protective shell up and his grounding stones. But for some reason, Ian seems to be vibrating at a much higher frequency than anyone else he's ever met.

Either that, or they are spiritually attuned.

Mickey doesn't want to think about that possibility, so he chalks it up to the ginger witch being a strong presence. Probably a psychic of one sort or another.

Yeah, that has to be it.

He shakes off the last of the residual energy from their encounter, following the Gallagher brothers up the path and toward the dinner table.

 

***

 

Mickey takes yet another deep breath, seating himself along the left side of the long dining table, Iggy on his left, Mandy on his right. He doesn't have to work so hard to shield himself now, most of the witches at the table are powerful and well versed in their craft, and shielding their own energies is second nature. It's such a relief to Mickey, to be surrounded by people who know how to keep their shit to themselves. He lets a contented sigh slip past his lips as the food starts getting passed. He takes a large helping of venison, mashed red potatoes, and a serving of apple salad at Mandy's insistence. He refills his ale and sets it down, knowing full well no one will eat until everyone is served and the High Priestess gives a blessing. He is sitting there, waiting as patiently as is possible for him, when he feels the surge of two distinct feelings flying at him from across the table. The first is a bitter anger, and he doesn't have to look to know it's coming from Karen, who is sitting at the head of the table, at her mother's right hand. Mickey's still not sure what Karen's problem with him is. It can't really be all about the fact that he wouldn't let her suck his dick. All he does know is that the dark, sludgy distaste rolling off of her is almost enough to make him lose his appetite.

The other strong sensation is coming from across the table. His eyes shoot up, and on the other side of the table, beyond the various exotic dishes and the fragrant displays of season flowers, he sees Ian, sitting with a man. A boy, really. He's skinny and it's obvious, even sitting, that he is dwarfed by Ian. He's got mousy brown hair and beady, angry eyes. His aura is a sickly green and his whole being is pulsing with envy and rage. He's speaking to Ian in an angry, hushed tone, and for once Mickey wishes he were a mind reader, instead of an emotion reader. Whatever the kid is saying, it's obviously effecting Ian. His own aura has gone from a bright prism of pinks and blues, to a muddled sort of dirty gray. Whatever that kid is saying to Ian is really getting to him, and Mickey doesn't like it at all.

"Hey Ian." Mickey calls across the table. Both men look over at him. Ian gives him a small smile, and Mickey knows he's embarrassed that Mickey is witnessing this argument. The other man's eyes snap over as well, and a bubble of rage wells up in Mickey and he knows in that moment, this kid is jealous. Jealous of Ian, or of someone regarding Ian.

Jilted lover.

The thought comes and goes before Mickey can think too much of it. It's none of his business, he reminds himself.

"Have some of this apple salad. My sister makes it." he passes the bowl across the table. nodding toward his sister, who is blushing.

"It was our mother's recipe." Mandy says, giving Ian a small smile.

"I'm sure I'll love it." Ian replies warmly, taking the bowl from Mickey. "Thank you."

Mickey just nods, surreptitiously watching the exchange between Ian and the other man, picking up on bits and pieces. Ian's embarrassed, this kid is making him uncomfortable. The guy, on the other hand is indignant, feels like he's been grievously wronged.

Before Mickey can psychically eavesdrop on any more of Ian's troubles. Shelia stands from the table, clinking her fork against her goblet to get the attention of the crowd gathered around the table.

"Thank you so much, to all of you for making this Samhain one of our most successful to date. I see some many young faces around this table, so full of promise. Some of you still have a ways to go." she said, gazing toward her daughter. "But I know with patience and hard work, you will one day be the new face of Witchcraft in America." she smiled. "Now, Fiona Gallagher, would you do us the honor of blessing our meal this year?"

Ian's eyes went wide as all eyes fell on his sister, sitting a few seats down from him. She looked just as shocked as the rest of them, but quickly got her wits about her. She stood quickly, grabbing up her goblet of wine and clearing her throat.

She let her gaze fall on the group once before closing her eyes to speak her family's ancient Samhain blessing.

 

"This is the night when the gateway between

our world and the spirit world is thinnest.

Tonight is a night to call out those who came before.

Tonight we honor our ancestors.

Spirits of our fathers and mothers, we call to you,

and welcome you to join us for this night.

You watch over us always,

protecting and guiding us,

and tonight we thank you.

Your blood runs in our veins,

your spirit is in our hearts,

your memories are our souls.

With the gift of remembrance.

We remember all of you.

You are dead but never forgotten,

and you live on within us,

and within those who are yet to come."

 

With that, Fiona returned to her seat to a chorus of "So mote it be."

"Oh Fiona, how beautiful." Shelia marveled. "Just perfect, thank you, thank you. Eat, everyone eat."

Without another word, the assembled crowd dug into their meals.

Ian slowly chewed his lamb, his eyes flitting across the table to Mickey every now and again, watching Mickey as he tore into a turkey leg like a caveman. A slow smile crept upon Ian's lips unbidden, when suddenly he gasped in pain, dropping his fork to his plate with a clatter.

"Ow! Trevor, what the fuck?" Ian hissed, rubbing at the sore spot on his thigh with his fingers. Trevor had fucking pinched him. Like a little girl.

"Can you not ogle that thuggish prick right in front of me? Have you no shame?" Trevor spat, tears springing up in his eyes, the drama queen.

Ian fucked up. That is nothing new. In a moment of weakness, he'd slept with one of the students in his Tarot 101 class. Trevor was a couple years younger than him, not a natural witch. Just a guy off the street who thought reading cards would be a cool skill to have. A sexy party trick, or whatever.  Once he'd finished that class, he'd come back for another, then another. Palm reading, runes, pendulum skills, essential oils and elemental magic. Whenever Ian held a class, Trevor was there.

He never seemed to improve, however. He asked the same basic questions over and over, and could never even explain to the class what the seven chakras were.

Now, Ian doesn't consider himself a magical snob, but with the amount of classes this guy was taking, he should have been able to differentiate between the root and crown chakras.

That is, if he were taking any of this shit seriously.

Ian could tell from the moment he first spoke to Trevor that he was not serious about witchcraft, or following the path of the Old Gods. But not everyone was meant for a magical life, and the guy was cute and funny, and Ian had been lonely for a long time. So one night after a meditation class they went out for drinks, and ended up in bed.

It's not serious, just a casual hook up arrangement. No strings, no expectations.

When Ian heard that Trevor was coming to the Samhain celebration, he wasn't surprised. He'd stupidly hoped that Trevor would stay away, since he is not a member of any coven. But students from the Gallagher's store "Crescent Moon" are welcome to open Sabbats like Samhain, so of course Trevor would come. Ian wishes he'd stayed away. They are not dating. Hell, they are barely hooking up, they've only ever screwed around a handful of times. And now Trevor's acting like a jealous little bitch over  perceived eye contact across the table?  


Jesus Christ.

"Trevor, I have no idea what you are talking about, and now is not the time." Ian ground out, turning to face the other man. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mickey smirking into his cranberry sauce, and he kind of wanted to kick him under the table. "Can we talk about this after dinner, please? This is a sacred time."

Trevor dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you want me here?" he asks suddenly.

"What?" Ian asks, grabbing up his goblet of ale and draining the glass. As he drops it down on the cluttered table, he watches with wide eyes as Mickey picks up the jug of ale siting in front of his plate and fills Ian's glass again, that same smirk still fixed on  his face.

"This is what I'm talking about!" Trevor shouts, much too loud for Ian's liking. He is drawing attention from the people seated around them now, and Ian wants to melt into his seat. He is just getting back into Shelia's good graces, a fight at the dinner table is the last thing he wants.

"What? What are you talking about?" Ian whispers harshly. He leans in closer to Trevor, hoping to keep this conversation between them and not the entire table. He can feel Mickey's eyes on him, and he hopes to Lugh that Mickey can not hear his thoughts.

That would be even more embarrassing than this hissy fit Trevor is throwing.

Trevor leans in too, placing a hand on Ian's knee. Ian fights not to throw him off.

"That man. Milkovich. You've been talking to him all day, instead of spending time with me. I don't know anyone else here. You are supposed to be my date, introduce me to other witches, help me get my foot in the door so I can join the coven. I came here tonight to be with you, and you leave me twisting in the wind for that dirty criminal. How could you?"

Ian just stares, mouth hanging open, eyes bulging out of his sockets. He doesn't even know where to begin. He's feeling very uncomfortable, and more than a little confused.

Mickey watches the exchange from his seat across the table, glass of ale in hand. He's not even bothering to pretend he's not eavesdropping. He doesn't need to hear it all to know what's going on, Ian and his friend are giving off some pretty serious vibes right now.

Ian is uncomfortable, and uncertain. The other man, Trevor or whatever, is jealous and insecure. Their energies are not compatible at all, and their auras keep clashing around them. Ian's energy is trying to repel Trevor's, while Trevor's is trying to absorb Ian's. It's as interesting to watch as it is painful.

"Trevor," Ian sighs, not at all wanting to do this at the table. "Let me finish eating with my coven, and then we can talk about all this. Before the ritual, okay?"

"You won't leave me again? Go running off with that, that asshole?"

"Watch your mouth." Mickey surprises them by jumping into their conversation. "I don't know you, and you sure as shit don't know me. And I'm fairly positive you don't want to become acquainted with me, or my dirty criminal fists." he doesn't even bother to look at them when he speaks, keeps his eyes trained on his glass of ale the entire time.

Trevor swallows, visibly shaken. "Uh, I'm finished." he says quickly, grabbing his plate and goblet while he stands from the table. "Ian, come find me by the fire when you are done. We are not finished talking." and with that he's gone.

Ian groans, running a hand down his face, embarrassment washing over him in a humiliating wave. He can feel the eyes of the other witches on him as he finishes his meal silently. He takes his time, chewing his carrots and draining his ale before refilling it and digging into his turkey. As he eats, he glances up at Mickey across the table, but the man is talking to his brother. Ian can't hear the conversation, but their mood is jovial and Ian decides he really likes Mickey's smile. It illuminates his whole face.

Bright as a thousand suns.

That's what Monica used to say.

Monica.

Ian sighs, feeling the sting of tears prickling his eyes. Here he is, on the one day of the year set aside to honor the dead, and his thoughts have been consumed with stupid shit like Trevor and the alluring stranger across the table.

Guilt pools in his gut, followed by bone crushing sadness.

He misses his mother.

His siblings don't understand, they never had the connection with Monica that he did. Ian's not ever sure why he has such love for her, since she was gone for most of his life. But the memories he does have of her are good ones. She is the first person to show him the tarot. She bought him his first crystal ball. She took him to his first ever Esbat, just the two of them. Ian will never forget those things, and the love his mother showered him with when she was around. He tries not to dwell on the fact that she abandoned him and his siblings over and over in favor of her chaotic adventure of a life. None of that  matters now that all he has left are memories.

He clears his throat, willing himself not to cry as he pushes away from the table and heads toward the fire to find Trevor. May as well get this over with.

 

***

 

Mickey doesn't look away from Iggy when Ian stands from the table, but he can feel the sorrow and grief dripping off his being as he trudges toward the fire. It's clear to Mickey that Ian is feeling a plethora of conflicting emotions at the moment, but not all of them are tied up in that asshole by the fire. Mickey knows instinctively that Ian is grieving the loss of his mother. Of course, no one has told  him this. He doesn't know her name or how she died or when she died. But he can feel that Ian still mourns her deeply, and he's got conflicting feelings about that too. Guilt, anger, and relief are all swirling within that grief, and the mixture of energy makes Mickey feel a little dizzy.

Mickey shouldn't be feeling any of this. His shielding spell has been working well, even surrounded by such high energy witches in varying stages of intoxication, he's only getting small surges of emotions from those around him, but Ian is coming through in stereo, and Mickey can't figure out why.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's standing from the table. He goes to grab his goblet, but his brother's fingers wrap around his wrist before he can lift it.

"What?" Mickey asks, surprising himself with the annoyance in his voice. All he knows is that he feels the need to follow Ian, and his brother is stopping him from doing that.

"You gonna go after that Gallagher kid?" Iggy asks, shocking Mickey. His brother never bothers to ask him questions like that, content to let Mickey do as he pleases.

"Maybe." Mickey shrugs, pulling his hand away. "Why?"

Iggy smiled, pulling something out of his pocket and handing it to Mickey. One of his special magically charged joints.

"No reason." his brother smirked, pushing the joint into his hand. "You're not the only one in this family who gets feelings." he continued cryptically. "Go find him, before that jerkoff he brought here gets him first."

Mickey scoffed, pocketing the joint. "We'll see about that."

Iggy laughed, shaking his head. "Get the fuck outta here. I'm gonna take Mandy over to the dessert table. See you at the ritual?"

Mickey nodded, leaving the table as his brother moved toward his sister a few feet down the table.

Mickey walked across the yard, down the small sloping  hill toward the fire pit. It was dark now, the sun having finally set. The moon was out in all her glory. Full and bright and glowing with power. Mickey smiles up at Her while he makes his way down to the fire pit.

He can feel the men before he can see them. The thing with emotions is, the stronger they are being felt, the stronger they are broadcast to empaths like Mickey. And these two men are sending out pulse after pulse of intense, nauseating emotion. Anger, disgust, contempt, jealousy, indignation, and sorrow. So much crippling sorrow. It hits Mickey in the chest like a brick, and he brings a hand up to rub at his heart, where the pain is swirling there.

As he approaches, he can finally hear them speaking. He stops along the tree line, laying a hand on a bare elm tree.

"Ian, what the fuck are we doing here?" Trevor yells, waving his hands around wildly. "I thought we were working on something between us. I thought we were moving forward. I thought that's why you invited me here tonight."

Mickey can feel Trevor's pain, dulled due to his protective bubble, but it's there. A wave of possessive anger jolts his body. And he knows what Trevor's feeling. He wants Ian, he wants to possess him, to own him. He wants to show him off to the world: this is mine. Mickey honestly doesn't know if any of that is true or not. He's an empath, not a mind reader. But that is what he feels, and he's usually not wrong.

Ian scoffs, drawing Mickey's attention to him. " Firstly, I didn't invite you. You invited yourself." he spat, irritated. "Secondly, why is it always about you? Do you even UNDERSTAND what tonight is about? You've been taking classes for months now. What is Samhain about, Trevor?"

Trevor balked at him, arms crossed over his chest defiantly. "Ancestors or whatever. Irish shit." he spat, clearly angry to be put on the spot.

"Irish shit?" Ian laughed bitterly. "That's what you think?" he shook his head, pacing in front of the fire.

Mickey could feel the anger rolling off Ian in waves.  But simmering just under the surface, hidden but much more potent, was grief. Sorrow so bone deep and painful that Mickey felt tears prickling in his own eyes.

Ian lost someone he loves very much. Someone he wishes he could hate....

Mother.

The word flits through Mickey's mind so fast he almost doesn't register it. At first he thinks he's confusing Ian's emotions with his own. His own longing for his mother.  But he never wished he hated his mother, so it has to be Ian.

Mickey is hit by the sudden, strange desire to comfort Ian. Hell, he barely knows this guy, and he oddly wants to make it all better.

His thoughts are interrupted by Ian's irate ramblings. Mickey has to hold in a smile.

"You really don't give a shit about any of this, do you?" he spat, getting right in Trevor's face. "Samhain is about honoring ancestors, yes. But it is more about honoring loved ones we've lost. Like my fucking mother! So I'm sorry if I'm not paying enough attention to you. I'm sorry if this witch shit isn't as exciting or esoteric as you thought it was going to be. I'm sorry you're not getting what you need tonight. But this shit is important to me. It's a time to commune with the dead. To honor them, to love them and pay them respect. So if you're not going to do that, just shut the fuck up."

"How dare you talk to me like that?" Trevor screeched, raising a hand like he was about to bitch slap Ian.

Mickey did laugh then, making his presence known to the men. "You are gonna wanna drop that hand, Curly Sue, or I'll break it off." Mickey said casually, making his way over to the couple.

"Excuse me?" Trevor asked, dropping his hand nonetheless. "Who the fuck do you think you are? This conversation has nothing to do with you."

"But it kind of does." Mickey shrugged, putting a cigarette to his lips and lighting it. "You see, not only can the whole fucking party hear you guys going at it over here, but I can feel that shit, and it's making me a little nauseous."

Ian shook his head, clearly embarrassed, but Trevor, still worked up, just scoffed.

"What do you mean, you can feel it? That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard."

Mickey chuckled, glancing over toward Ian. "This dude really is clueless, huh?"

Ian just shrugged, wishing he could just throw himself in the fire and end his embarrassment.

Mickey turned back to Trevor, taking a drag off his cigarette while he contemplated how much he wanted to share. He finally decided on 'fuck it', and let the kid have it.

"I'm an empath, you jackass." Mickey sighed, pulling on his cigarette and blowing the smoke right in Trevor's face. "I'll explain that shit to you, since I'm sure your ignorant ass has no idea what I'm talking about." Mickey took a step closer to Trevor, smiling when the other man took a cautious step back. "It means I can feel everything you're feeling right now. You hate me, which is funny, cuz you sure as shit don't know me. You're nervous and a little scared, about what I don't know. But the real kicker is the way you feel about this fucking guy right here." he pointed over his shoulder at a flabbergasted Ian. "Your whole body is vibrating with a bizarre mixture of lust and greedy, possessive nastiness. You want to fuck him right now, but you also want to own him. You don't want anyone else looking at him, or talking to him, or touching him." he made a show of running his finger down the length of Ian's arm, chuckling when Trevor's eyes bugged out. He didn't have to look at Ian to know how he was affecting him either. His smirk widened. "But you know what I don't feel when you look at him? Any kind of genuine affection. You don't love him. You don't even really like him. I'm no psychic, but I'm guessing you are just a horny little witch groupie that wants to get in with the creepy kids. But you're transparent as fuck, at least to me. You're no witch, and you're certainly not interested in Gallagher for anything but his dick."

Trevor gasped, laying a hand on his chest like he was going to faint. "How dare you?"

"How dare I what? Call you out? Cuz you know as well as I do, I'm not fucking lying." Mickey said simply. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised.

"Fuck you." Trevor growled, pointing an accusatory figure at Mickey before turning on Ian. "What about you? You're not going to defend me to this piece of shit Dion Warwick wannabe?"

Ian laughed, shaking his head. "You know what, Trevor, I may not know Mickey all that well, but I'm realizing now I don't know you at all. And I don't want to. You're making a scene at an event that it really important to me. An event you have no respect for, clearly."

Trevor scoffed, running a hand through his wild curly hair. "You know what? You're right.  I don't give a fuck. This witch shit is stupid. None of it is real, and you are all out of your god damn minds. You think you're gonna see fucking ghosts tonight? Come the fuck on. Then this fucking asshole, thinks he knows how I feel? He needs to be in the nut ward." Trevor rolled his eyes before shooting Mickey a glare.

"Watch your fucking mouth." Mickey growled, taking a threatening step forward. Trevor scurried back, wide eyed and afraid.

"I'm outta here. You guys are fucking whacked. Go to hell." Trevor hollered, hilariously making a cross with his index fingers as he scrambled backwards up the hill and away from the two men by the fire.

Once he was gone, Mickey couldn't hold it in anymore. He doubled over, hands on his knees, and lost his shit laughing. He laughed loud and long, until tears streamed down his face and all the heaviness of Trevor's ugly feelings dissipated, leaving Mickey feeling light and a little dizzy.

"Shit man. What a dick." he said, finally righting himself and turning to Ian who was still standing by the fire, arms crossed over his chest.

Mickey's brow furrowed, and he took a step toward the other man. Ian's expression was pinched and his posture rigid.

"Hey, you okay?" Mickey asked, even though he knew the answer to the the question before the words slipped past his lips.

No.

"Not really." Ian sighed, confirming Mickey's feeling. "I'm sorry about that." he said, motioning toward the path Trevor had retreated down. "He just kind of followed me here tonight. He shouldn't have said that shit about you."

"You're right." Mickey nodded, taking a step forward. "But he definitely shouldn't have said any of that shit to you. He's a prick." he shook his head in disgust. "But that's not what I'm talking about." another step forward had Mickey almost chest to chest with Ian. "Not to act like I know ya or whatever, but you've got some heavy shit going on in here." he said lowly, tapping his tattooed finger against Ian's chest.

"You can really feel me that well, huh?" Ian groaned. "That's kind of embarrassing."

"Don't feel weird about it." Mickey shrugged. "Even your bad shit is way better than that prick's shit." Mickey said, pointing up the hill where Trevor had just retreated.

That got a huff of a laugh out of Ian, and Mickey could feel his spirit lifting infinitesimally. Mickey counts that as a win as he motions toward the fire with his head. "Wanna sit for a bit? The ritual doesn't start for another half an hour."

Ian gives him a small smile, feeling the knot in his chest loosening in tiny increments. "Sure."

So they sit, close enough that their elbows touch, passing the goblet of ale Mickey brought with him between themselves as the fire snaps and crackles in front of them.

It is silent between the two for a moment. Ian processing the craziness that he just experienced, and Mickey just enjoying the close proximity. He smiles to himself, remembering what Iggy said to him.

"Hey, you wanna spark this shit before the ritual? My brother enchanted it to help us commune with the spirits better." Mickey gives Ian a small smile, waving the charged joint in Ian's face.

Ian's face breaks out into a wide smile, and Mickey can feel trickles of affection wafting off Ian. Ian likes him, likes talking to him.

That makes Mickey very happy. He's surprised to find he's not more weirded out. Usually, when a man's feelings for Mickey are so easy to feel, it turns him off. He's nothing special. He knows that. So when he feel desire radiating off of men, he always assumes it's purely physical. Sometimes that's good, just what Mickey wants. But other times it grosses him out.

With Ian, though, it's all different. It feels good, natural. Like Ian wants him for him, and not just his body.

Mickey shakes his head, trying to get his shit together. He's getting ahead of himself. Just because Ian gives off a pleasant vibe, it doesn't mean there is anything going on between them.

He forces himself back on track, passing the joint to Ian, then the lighter.

Ian gives him a small, shy smile, and Mickey can feel excited, nervous energy wafting off Ian and soaking into his skin. He suddenly feels giddy as fuck.

"Yeah, thanks. Need this shit." Ian says lowly, sparking the joint and taking a long pull off it.

Mickey watches, completely enraptured, as Ian's cheeks hollow and he pulls the pungent smoke into his lungs.

Ian passes the joint back to Mickey , holding the smoke deep in his lungs. He can feel the effect of the drug before he even exhales.

This shit is strong.

Ian feels his limbs loosen, his mind clearing and his whole ethereal being relaxing, like any and all stress and negativity is being sucked out of his soul. He sighs in relief as his shoulders fall and he passes the joint to Mickey. Their fingers brush as Mickey grabs it from his outstretched hand, and sparks shoot up Mickey's arm. He shakes his head, totally overwhelmed by the connection he's experiencing with this man. He takes a pull of the joint, holding the his breath for a moment before exhaling slowly through his nose. He can feel the effect instantaneously. Iggy grows some intense weed. But it's not a mind fuck, it's not that kind of high. It's more of a physical lightness, an opening of his heart, a weight lifting off his shoulders, a clearing of his mind. It's the perfect feeling for the ritual tonight. He doesn't have to look at Ian to know he's feeling very much the same.

"I don't know what's in that shit, but I feel great now." Ian breathed, taking the last hit off the joint before passing it to Mickey, who killed it and tossed the roach into the fire. "Like none of that bullshit with Trevor just happened, and my whole mood has taken a 180 degree turn." Ian turned to Mickey, taking in the way the fire illuminated his face. He had this cocky smirk splitting his lips, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead. "What?" Ian asked, confused.

"It could be the weed." Mickey nodded, still smirking. "But I'm pretty sure it's mostly me."

"Huh?" Ian asked, his confusion growing. The weed could be slowing him down, but he's pretty sure it's just Mickey that's making him feel so off-kilter. It's not a bad feeling, just overwhelming. "What do you mean?"

Mickey chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't usually do this. I don't want you to think I go around showering people with energy or anything, fucking with their heads, but I could tell that argument with Trevor was really fucking with your vibe, so I sent you some warm and fuzzies, y'know, take the edge off, get your head back in the game for the ritual." Mickey shrugged, reaching out tentatively the run his tattooed finger along Ian's wrist, glancing up at him through his lashes. "Sorry, I know I overstepped." he added on quietly when Ian didn't say anything.

Ian was staring at Mickey's hand, his fingers running along his wrist and up the cuff of his shirt. Mickey's words wash over him, along with another rush of tranquility and warmth. He smiles, content and happy, sitting here by the fire with this man. Suddenly, he's hit with an overpowering desire, and he cleaves to it before he can think better.

He turns his head, bringing one hand up and cupping the side of Mickey's face. Mickey's eyes go wide, but he doesn't pull back. He just cocks his head to the side, a playful smirk curving his lips. Ian smiles back, dipping his head down and slowly, so slowly, their lips meet.

Ian is shocked by the rush of pleasure that shoots through him at the simple contact. His whole body is alight with it as Mickey twists on the log to get a better angle on the kiss. His hand comes up, his tattooed fingers slipping into Ian's hair as he opens his mouth for Ian's tongue. Their lips meet again and again, and the kiss is tender and gentle in a way Mickey's never experience before. Ian is soft and warm inside his mouth, his tongue pushing carefully yet insistently against Mickey's. Ian makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat and Mickey smiles against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip with his sharp teeth. Ian gasps, his hands tightening on Mickey's neck as he tilts his head and goes back in for more. 

Mickey can feel Ian. All of him, down to the atom.  He's got this incredibly bright aura, and kissing him is otherworldly. He's never experienced anything like it, and he never wants it to end. Their energies together are creating a symphony in Mickey's mind, and it's fucking glorious.

Just as Mickey's about to crawl into Ian's lap and take this shit to the next level, Ian pulls back, a sheepish smile on his face. He's panting a little as he runs a hand through his sweaty red hair.

"The ritual." Ian breathes, sliding his hand up Mickey's arm to rest on his shoulder. "We better get up there."

Mickey nods, a little surprised with himself for getting so caught up in the red headed witch. Energies aside, they are here for the ritual. "Yeah, we don't want to miss that." he stands, smoothing his hands down his dress shirt. He extends his hand, and Ian takes it. Mickey pulls him up to stand, and gives him a wide smile as he turns and pulls Ian up the path toward the ritual space.

"To be continued?" he asks over his shoulder, not bothering to look back at Ian. He doesn't want to give himself away any more than he already has, still a little shocked that he's so enthralled with this guy.

"Yeah." Ian laughs, his eyes trained on Mickey's ass as they meander up the path. "I'm not done with you yet."

Mickey laughs, but says nothing, soaking up all the lust and anticipation Ian's giving off. This Samhain is turning out to be much more than the simple ritual Mickey anticipated.

 

***

 

Even though Ian's been coming to these rituals his whole life, it never fails to take his breath away. His eyes scan the assembled crowd, standing in a wide circle around the altar, the torches lining the perimeter illuminating the space in a ghostly glow.  He and Mickey wedge themselves into the circle next to Mandy. Ian's eyes find his siblings, standing at the other end of the circle, giving them a smile and nod when they shoot him a slew of confused, questioning looks.

He'll deal with that later. He has no desire to move. He feels like he belongs next to Mickey.

The thought is a bit of a shock, but it's not untrue. So Ian stays right where he is, content and happy to be so close to Mickey for this important ritual.

Once everyone is situated around the circle, Karen makes her way along the perimeter, handing out white tapered candles to each witch in attendance. She sneers at Mickey when she passes them, shoving the candle into his outstretched hand. He gives her  a sickly sweet smile, but holds his tongue. The sneer stays fixed in place as she hands Ian a taper. "Blessed be, bitch." she growls before moving on to the next participant.

"God." Ian sighs, glancing over at Mickey. "She's bitter."

"You have no idea." Mickey nods, watching Karen make her way around the circle. "She's full of anger and resentment. I guess that's why she pulled that shit today, saying I tried to assault her or whatever. She's threatened by my family, for whatever reason."

"You guys have quite the reputation." Ian conceded. "Not that I believe that shit." he tacked on quickly.

"Some of it is true." Mickey said. "But that's a conversation for another day. Shelia's getting ready to start."

Ian nods, turning away from Mickey. He kicks himself mentally for bringing up Mickey's past again. But the fact that Mickey didn't shut him down entirely is something, so he decides to let it go for now. He turns his attention to Shelia also, as she begins to speak.

"Family, welcome to our annual Crow Moon Coven Samhain celebration. If we are all ready, we are going to begin." she casts her eyes around the circle, and when she gets a smattering of nods from the participants, she turns toward the altar, grabbing up her wand.

Mickey watches as Shelia raises her hands to the sky, head tipped back. Her lips move as she mutters quietly to herself, preparing to cast the circle. Mickey can see the energy flowing up from the earth and into Shelia. White light pools around her feet, flowing up her legs and filling her body. She is glowing, bright white and luminous, the power wafting off of her in glorious waves of rainbow light. She points her wand toward the perimeter of the circle, spinning in a slow circle as a beam of light shoots from her wand and lands in the grass, creating the sacred space for the ritual.

Mickey's not sure if other witches can see the light emanating from Shelia's wand, or her body. He thinks it may be his empath mind that make the whole thing so bright and beautiful, because looking around the circle, he doesn't see the looks of wonderment or amazement that he feels right now.

The circle cast, other coven members move to the quarter candles, lighting them as Shelia calls the quarters, inviting the Elements to join them in their circle.

She stands in front of the green candle, hands raised, head back "Watchtowers of the North, I summon you now to this sacred place. Guard this circle outside of time and space. By the powers of Earth, to our magic give birth." another witch lights the green candle, and all is quiet for a moment while the coven meditates on the powers of earth.

Ian closes his eyes as he focuses on the powers he draws from the element for Earth. Stability strength, and prosperity. He is blessed indeed.

Shelia makes her way around the circle, calling each quarter down to witness their ritual, and Ian feels the power of each one flowing through him.

Intelligence and his psychic powers from the element of Air.

Passion and inspiration from Fire.

Wisdom and the eternal love of his very soul from Water.

After Shelia has called the quarters and cast the circle, Ian watches as Lip and Carl make their way around the perimeter with two censers, waving them as they walk, bathing the witches in rich sage smoke, purifying the space. When they are done, they rejoin the family and the ritual is ready to begin.

Shelia lets her eyes wander over the participants on last time before raising her hands again. "And so it begins."

With that, the witches all clasp hands and start moving around the circle. It's been so long since Mickey's been to a ritual like this, he almost forgot this was part of it. He takes Ian's hand in his left hand, ignoring the sparks shooting up his arm, and Mandy's in his right as they all start to dance around the circle, swaying and raising their linked hands.

It may have been years since he's done this, but it all comes back to him instantly. He smiles as he feels the energy and power of the group as a whole wash over him, wave after wave of happiness and connection surges through him as he moves his feet in time with his family.

 

"The Moon is bright, the Crone is old

The body lifeless - the bones so cold

We all live and pay our dues

To die in ones and threes and twos.

 

Death, dance and play the harp

Piercing silence in the dark

The Woman's old with withered limbs

Death beckons Her to dance with Him

 

As She accepts the Dance of Death

The Earth is cooled by ghostly breath

To lie in dormancy once more

To have Her strength and life restored"

 

To an outsider, the chant may sound depressing, but to Mickey is the exact opposite. All things die, only to be reborn again. Be it the trees in the winter, or a human being. All things return to the earth to be reborn. That is what they celebrate tonight. The never ending cycle of Life, Death, Rebirth. Mickey smiles as he moves, feeling more at home than he ever has. He glances over at Ian, catching the effervescent glee on his face, and his heart swells.

Ian has also come home tonight. This is where he belongs. His whole being is throbbing with gratitude and happiness. It's beautiful to witness.

Once the group has finished their dance, Shelia moves back to the center of the circle. "Now is the time we honor our beloved dead. Everyone have their candles?" After receiving confirming nods from the group, Shelia strikes a match and lights her candle, moving toward the edge of the circle.

"I light this candle in honor of my grandmother, Gail. The best woman, the best witch I ever knew." Shelia's voice breaks as she speaks, and Mickey can feel her love for her grandmother, even on the other side of the circle. He prepares himself as best he can, this ritual is going to be a lot for him, feeling all these emotions. His shields are useless in a group of such powerful witches. He is surprised when he feels Ian's fingers slipping around his wrist. He glances over as Shelia uses her candle to light then next participant's candle. Ian is smiling at him, and Mickey twists his hand so they can thread their fingers together. Ian's energies are warm and kind, and it grounds Mickey in a way he's never felt before. Suddenly, he's not so worried about the collective energy of the group, too consumed with how Ian feels to leave any room for anyone else's emotions.

As the flame makes it's way around the circle, each witch speaks a few words about the Beloved Dead they choose to honor. Before Mickey knows it, his sister is speaking, saying a sweet blessing for their maternal grandmother, who died in Ukraine many years ago.

Then it's Mickey's turn. He releases Ian's hand so he can turn to his sister, candle extended. She uses the flame of her candle to light his, and surprises him by leaning in and kissing his cheek. He's so shocked, in fact, that Ian has to elbow him in the ribs to get him back on track.

Mandy never does lovey shit like that.

He shakes his head, drawing his attention to the flame of his candle.

"I light this candle in honor of our mother, Anya. She taught us so much in her short lifetime, but most of all, she taught us to never abandon our family, and never turn our back on our gifts. I honor her this night, and in all I do."

Mickey ignores Mandy's tear-streaked face, averting his eyes from the rest of the group as well. He can feel sympathy radiating off the crowd, along with a good amount of shock. Like it's such a surprise Mickey would say such a thing.

Like it's such a shock that he would love and miss his dead mother.

Instead, he turns to Ian, candle outstretched, small smile curling his lips. Ian smiles back, lighting his candle off Mickey's. He takes a deep breath before turning toward the crowd. All eyes are on him as he begins to speak.

"I light this candle in honor of my mother, Monica. She was not always the best person, but she gave us life. The breath in our lungs, the beat of our hearts, and the witchcraft in our blood. For that, I am eternally grateful." Ian sputters, unable to control his emotions. Monica may have been a shitty mom, a shitty witch, and a shitty person, but he loves her still. None of her indiscretions on the mortal plane matter anymore.

Ian turns, lighting Iggy's candle, and tuning out for the rest of the memorials. He knows he should be paying attention, but his thoughts are consumed with his mother. Why? Why did she have to leave? Run off with that charlatan? Throw her whole life away? Give up on her family, on herself?  Ian can feel himself splitting apart at the seams. His throat is closing up and his eyes are stinging. He's going to fucking cry.

Shit.

He feels Mickey's fingers dancing around his wrist again. He reaches out, gripping his hand tight. Mickey leans in, whispering quietly while the ritual goes on around them.

"I'd help you, Ian, but it's important you feel that shit. Grief only gets better if we process it."

Ian nodded, using his free hand to wipe his face, his fingers coming back wet with fresh tears. "I know. I'm okay."

Mickey nods, squeezing Ian's hand once more before bringing his attention back to the ritual.

It's almost over, and the end is important.

Shelia walks from the center of the circle to the altar, where the cauldron is still sitting on the ground, full of enchanted sand, waiting. She kneels down, eyes closed as she buries the end of her candle in the sand. The flame dances around the edge of the cauldron's lip, swaying on the slight breeze.

Once Shelia steps back, the rest of the witches slowly make their way to the cauldron in a line, each one kneeling down and depositing their candle into the cauldron. By the time Mickey and Ian make their way to the front of the line, the cauldron is full of burning candles, each one representing a lost love one. Ian kneels first, bowing his head as he pushes his candle into the sand. Mickey can feel his pain dissolving the smallest bit, like he's actually letting it go, if even just the smallest amount.

Mickey reaches out, laying a hand on Ian's shoulder as the other man struggles to get to his feet. Ian turns, giving Mickey a small smile before stepping out of the way so Mickey can add his candle to the cauldron.

Mickey kneels, eyes pinched shut tight. "Until next year." he whispers. He buries the tip of his candle in the sand and stands, moving aside so his sister can go next. He grips Ian's hand and drags him back to their spot in the circle, unaware of all the sets of eyes on them at the moment.

He doesn't see the sneers of Karen and her little group of bitchy friends. He doesn't see the wary glances from Ian's siblings or the shocked expressions his own siblings are sporting. He doesn't even see Shelia's knowing smile.

He doesn't see any of it. What's more, he doesn't FEEL any of it either....

For the first time in the longest time, Mickey can't feel anyone around him. No emotions but his own, and Ian's, flowing up his fingers and into his heart. He's not sure what the hell is going on, but he likes it. It's quiet and calm in his head and his heart, and he feels grounded and protected in a way none of his crystals or incantations have ever been able to give him.

Soulmate.

The word is loud and powerful in his head, and a jolt of electricity flows through him, converging in his heart until he feels like his chest is going to burst wide open. To his left, Ian stops dead in his tracks.

"Did you feel that?" Ian whispers, his eyes wide, his fingers tightening around Mickey's.

"Yeah." Mickey replies just as quietly. "We can talk about it after the ritual."

Ian nods, feeling overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation he suddenly finds himself in. His mind is drawn to his morning reading. It was only hours ago, but it feels like years have passed at this point. So much has changed since he stepped foot on this hallowed ground.

He knows now, what the cards were alluding to... His fate is clear to him as he glances around the circle of witches before his eyes are drawn back to Mickey as they stand side by side. This is his future. This coven of witches. This man.

Ian smiles, his heart swelling with gratitude and nervous excitement.

"I know." Mickey says lowly as they cast their eyes toward Shelia for the end of the ritual. "Me too."

Ian doens't know what to say to that, so he stays silent.

Mickey is blown away. Never in a million years did he think he'd find something like this. Someone like Ian. They only met hours ago, but the signs are so clear, he'd be a fool to deny it.

That's not saying that everything will simply fall into place for them. Mickey's a witch, but he doesn't believe in fairy tales. He knows that if he does pursue a relationship with Ian, it will not be easy. But he's not interesting in easy. He wants raw and powerful and beautiful. Looking over at Ian, he's certain he's found just that.

"Thank you, everyone." Shelia says, drawing the attention back to the center of the circle. "I can feel the power of our collective blessings, and the presence of our Beloved Dead all around us. Let us complete the ritual so we may commence the celebration."

All the witches link hands then. Mickey slips his fingers between Ian's, and the warm tendrils of their shared connection makes their way up his arm again. He smiles, can't help it.

Shelia raises both her hands high in the air, and the circle of witches copy her, raising their linked hands over their heads.

They watch as Shelia takes the athame and a pomegranate off the alter, holding them both up as she speaks.

"Thus is the Circle of Rebirth." she says, smiling as she speaks for The Great Goddess. "All pass from this life through the great god, Pan, but through His love you are all reborn in the cycles of nature - through the Cosmic Plan. In living we die - in dying we live. The fruit is first seed, yet seed comes from the fruit. In the mystery of life and death and rebirth. The Circle turns ever, and I am its root." she cuts the pomegranite in half, handing it off to Karen so each witch can take a seed from it, popping it into their mouths and swallowing it, like Persephone.

Once the fruit has made its way around the circle, the group links hands again, speaking practiced words in unison.

"The Sun conceived in Darkness, cold. In the Shadow of Death, a Life unfolds. A shred of Light begins to burn. From Death comes Life - the Circle turns."

Shelia smiles brightly, hands out to her side. Mickey watches as wave after wave of power flows from her hands and into each of the witches in the circle. He feels the warm embrace of a mother's adoration as Shelia's energy hits him like a truck.

Love.

She loves them all so much.

"So mote it be."  she says. "The ritual is closed."

With that the entire circle erupts into chaos. Witches whooping and hollering, dancing around. Everyone is walking around blessing each other. Mickey turns to Ian with a smirk on his face.

"Merry meet." he says, hand out. Ian takes it, using it to pull Mickey to his chest. He wraps his arms around him, unable to look away from his gorgeous blue eyes.

"Merry part." Ian replies, knowing full well how to end a ritual.

"Merry meet again." Mickey replies.

"And the circle is complete." Ian says, finally dipping his head down and capturing Mickey's perfect mouth in a searing kiss.

It's like the whole world melts away, and it's just the two of them. There is a high, sweet singing sound in Ian's ears, and behind his closed eyes he sees glorious sparkles of blue and pink light. He's never experienced anything like this, and his whole body is humming with it.

Mickey pulls back, a little breathless. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops when he sees Ian's sister and brother approaching them.

Ian gives Mickey a confused look, twisting in his arms to see what he's looking at. Mickey frowns when he sees Fiona and Lip stomping toward them, already anticipating some kind of showdown.

But he's surprised to find that when they finally stop in front  of him, he feels no hostility coming off of them. If anything, he feels contrition.

Curious indeed.

"What?" Ian asks, releasing Mickey but staying by his side.

Fiona gives Lip a look, to which he rolls his eyes before turning to face Mickey. "I apologize." he grit out.

"You what now?" Mickey asked, scanning Lip's aura for any indication of deception. He only sees irritation, and a bit of embarrassment. And a shocking smidgen of penitence. Mickey raises his eyebrows, still skeptical.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have started that fight with you. Karen was lying. I'm a dick, and you did nothing wrong."

"Really pains you to say that, huh?" Mickey chuckled, running his fingers along his bottom lip.

"How the hell would you know how I feel?" Lip groused, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You don't want to know." Mickey replied cryptically.

"You trying to say I'm not smart enough to understand?" Lip demanded, taking a step forward, only to be pulled back by Fiona.

"God Lip." she sighed. "You are shit at this." she looked at Mickey, and Mickey could feel her true remorse. Although she had nothing to be sorry for. "What he's trying to say is that he was wrong, about you. And now that both our families are back in the coven, and you and our brother seem to be...friendly, we want to make sure there is no bad blood between our families. We are bonded through the coven now, so all is forgotten, yeah?" she had a hopeful look in her eye to match the optimism she was radiating. She was genuine, and held no ill will toward Mickey. She wanted them all to be friends.

Mickey smiled at her. A real smile. Fiona was a good person, he could tell. And he was glad Ian's family was open to accepting him and his siblings into the coven. He had a feeling they were going to need all the support they could get, until they could win over the rest of the witches in the group. Magical people had long memories, and Terry's specter still hangs heavy over Mickey and his siblings.

"All is forgotten." Mickey confirmed, extending his hand to Ian's older sister. She took it, shaking it, a relieved smile gracing her lips. She had been exuding nervous tension before, but as their hands clasped, all of that drained from her being, leaving only peaceful excitement.

"Wonderful, that's wonderful. Shelia will be so pleased." she gushed, releasing Mickey's hand and stepping back. "We'll leave you two alone for a bit." she smiled, moving to take a step toward Lip when suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks.

Fiona brought a hand up to her forehead, closing her eyes as she swayed on the spot. Mickey's eyes went wide, traveling from Fiona's still form to Ian's face.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked Ian, who gave him a small smile.

"She's receiving a message." Ian replied, moving to wrap his arms around Mickey's waist. Mickey's not used to these kinds of public displays of affection. Hell, if this were two months ago, he'd have clocked Ian for being so presumptuous, so faggy. But the notion never even crosses his mind. He just leans his back against Ian's chest as he watches Fiona mumbling to herself, both hands resting  on her temples. "I told you my sister's a medium, didn't I?"

"No. No you did not." Mickey replies, eyes still fixed on Fiona. Suddenly, her eyes pop open and she takes a quick step forward, gripping Mickey's hand tightly with both her own.

"Anya." she says, and Mickey gasps.

No. No fucking way.

"Your mother." Fiona continues. Lip shakes his head, walking back toward the tables, leaving the three of them alone. "She's very proud of you. And your brother and sister. She is relieved your father is gone, and pleased that you have come home to your coven." Fiona takes a deep breath, pinching her eyes shut for a moment before they snap back open and she's staring right into Mickey's eyes. "She loves you. She is always with you. And she is so, so happy you turned out just the way you did. She says you're perfect." Fiona smiles wide, cocking her head to the side like she's listening to a low whisper. "Oh! And she likes Ian. Thinks you should keep him." with that she dropped his hand and walked over to Ian, laying a gentle kiss on his scarlet, blushing face. "I'm assuming you will be getting a ride home tonight Ian. We are going to be leaving with the kids soon. Nice to finally meet you properly, Mickey. Welcome to the family." and with that she is gone, wandering toward the party, yelling for Carl and Debbie to bring Liam to her.

Mickey is so overwhelmed by what Fiona just said to him. His head is swimming and he can feel tears prickling his eyes.

Ian can see immediately that Mickey is taken aback by Fiona's words. It can be a bit much, the first time you get a true message from the Otherworld. Especially from someone as important as your mother. Ian's been waiting years to hear from Monica, but he has a feeling Mickey needed the message much more.

"Hey, hey." Ian says, cupping his face with both hands. "Let's go back to the fire, no one's down there. Everyone's up by the house, getting drunk. It'll be just us, okay?"

Mickey nods, still unable to speak. He lets Ian lead him down the winding path, back to the fire they had left only hours ago. It's still burning just as bright, the spot still oddly abandoned.

"I can't...I can't believe it." Mickey says once Ian deposits him on the log. "My mother..."

"I know." Ian replies, sitting next to him. "I was hoping Monica would reach out, but I think she's still too embarrassed. How spirits can be caught up in those low vibration emotions, I'll never know."

"She's proud of me." Mickey continues, shaking his head. "She's proud of me as a witch. She doesn't care that I'm gay."

"You never told her?" Ian asks, laying his hand on Mickey's bouncing knee. Mickey shook his head.

"Couldn't. My father would have killed me. So I never got the chance." he mumbled, trying desperately not to get sucked into the black hole of negativity that consumes him whenever he spares his father a thought.

"But she knows now, and she loves you still. That must feel good." Ian says, his thoughts drifting to his own mother, and why she refuses to contact him.

"Don't do that." Mickey says, reaching up to run his fingers through Ian's hair. "I can feel your guilt and sorrow. There is nothing wrong with you. I don't know why you can't contact your mother, but I do know it's not your fault."

"Thank you." Ian nods, scooting a little closer to Mickey on the log. "I know that logically, but it's hard to feel it in my heart."

"I get that." Mickey replies, laying his head on Ian's shoulder. It's such a strange, out of character thing for him to do, but it feels right. Ian's warm, and the sweet, amorous energy buzzing around him is intoxicating.

They sit there for a while, just watching the fire dance in the breeze. Ian wraps his arm around Mickey's shoulder, pulling him flush against his side.

"Do you feel this?" Ian asks, after long minutes of silence between them.

"Of course I do. I feel it twice as much as you do." Mickey mumbles lowly, not daring to look at Ian. He keeps his face tucked against Ian's chest as he speaks. "I can feel all of the things you are feeling. I'm not trying to, but your energy is so strong, some of the strongest I've ever encountered." he sighed, finally pulling back so he could look into Ian's eyes. They were so green, almost glowing in the firelight. "You are an open book, sorry."

Ian sighed, dropping his arm from around Mickey's shoulder and running a hand through his hair. "You don't..." Ian said, unsure of how to articulate what he was thinking. "You don't think you are confusing my feelings for your own, do you?" he finally said, surprised to find he was very afraid of the answer. Maybe he made all this shit up in his head. Maybe he let the cards he pulled that morning convince him that there is more to this odd connection than simple physical attraction.

"What?" Mickey asked, confusion coloring his tone. He watched Ian's face, feeling a sudden surge of insecure anxiety bubble up in his gut.

Oh.

"Ian, I can't confuse your emotions for my own." Mickey said, giving the other man a reassuring smile. "I mean, sometimes, yeah, if the feeling is very strong, I can mistake them for my own, but that is not happening here. You know how I know?"

Ian shook his head, leaning in when Mickey ran his tattooed fingers through his hair. 

"I know because your feelings are different than mine."

"Oh." Ian said, pulling back. Of course, of course Mickey's feelings are different. How could he feel how Ian does? He's not a crazy person, falling in love at first sight like some old Hollywood movie.

"Let me finish." Mickey chastised, pulling Ian back to him with a hand on his shoulder. "Your feelings are different, but we are feeling the same thing. Like, shit, how do I explain this?" Mickey grumbled, shaking his head. "Okay, so... usually, a person's emotions will come off as physical feelings, or colors. Like, when my sister gets really mad, she has this orange glow all around her, like a huge warning sign, and I get this gross creepy-crawly feeling all over my skin. With you, it's like this warm, bubbly, totally intoxicating rush. Like, flashes of hot pink and bright, sunny yellow. You exude this addictive, honeyed energy. Like you are so happy to just be sitting here with me."

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. "And how do you feel? If you're feelings are so different..."

Mickey sighed, smiling. He kind of hated this. He's come a long way since Terry got locked up, but talking about how he feels is still a foreign concept. The irony is not lost on him, an empath being unable to articulate how he feels.

But Ian's expectant eyes spur him on.

"I knew the moment I saw you, by the road with your asshole brother, that there was something special about you. I felt an immediate pull to you, and that scared the shit out of me. Still scares me." Mickey sighed, feeling more exposed by the moment. He rubbed furiously at his bottom lip, desperately trying to voice his thoughts without coming off like a pussy. "I don't do this type of thing. I have never felt this kind of immediate attraction to another man. I have lived my life thus far on one night stands and drunken hook ups. I've never even entertained the idea of allowing myself to  have actual feelings for anyone. I didn't want to open myself up to that kind of thing." Mickey sighed, feeling drained and vulnerable now. God, where did that word vomit come from? He shook his head ruefully, glancing over at Ian. "So when I say our feelings are different, I mean, you are confident in yours, and I'm afraid of mine. I don't mean that I don't like you, because I do. A lot."

Ian's face broke out into a wide smile, and Mickey felt the knot around his heart unwind. He was bombarded by a sudden surge of passion and desire.

"I feel you." Mickey smirked, his mind swimming with Ian's adoration for him. "It's fucking heady, how much you want me right now."

Ian groaned low in his throat, pulling Mickey to him and wrapping his arms around him. "You can't say that shit and expect me not to make a move." he growled, leaning down to sink his teeth into Mickey's neck. Mickey gasped, throwing his head back in pleasure as Ian nipped and sucked at the column of his throat. His tongue and teeth worked up the side of his throat, as his hands roamed up his side, gripping the fabric of his dress shirt tight in his fist.

"Who says I don't want you to make a move?" Mickey sighed, running his hands up under Ian's shirt, letting his fingers roam along his muscled back. "Want you too."

"Here?" Ian asked, pulling back to stare into Mickey's face. His pupils were blown wide, his mouth slack, hot panting breaths passed his lips, turning Ian on even  more.

"Why the fuck not?  No one's come down here all night besides  us. Let's go over there, by that big tree. I don't want to wait."

Ian moaned, gripping Mickey's ass with both hands. "Okay,fuck."

Mickey grinned, moving to stand. Ian stood with him, but they didn't make it very far, Ian wrapped his arm around Mickey's waist again, pulling their bodies flush together are he captured Mickey's lips in a biting kiss. Mickey smiled against his lips, closing his eyes as Ian slipped his tongue into his mouth. The kissed in front of the fire, hands roaming, bodies moving together, tongues dancing in their mouths. Mickey couldn't get close enough, couldn't get enough of Ian's energy mixing with his own. There was a sweet, low grade desperation building between them, and it was putting Mickey on edge in the best way.

Ian moaned low in his throat, pulling back just enough to start on the buttons of Mickey's shirt. Mickey smirked, shaking the shirt off his shoulders and letting it fall into the dirt. He'd worry about that shit later. Once Mickey's chest was bare, Ian pulled his own shirt over his head, throwing it over his shoulder with a flourish. Mickey was reaching for him before his arms were even down, kissing him hard as he pulled him toward the treeline. "C'mon." he murmured. "C'mon." Ian follows him, totally entranced by this amazing man. His hands slide down to grip that amazing ass again, and his mouth actually waters.

"Imma top, by the way." Ian blurts as Mickey finally gets him to the edge of the forest, shoving him up against a huge, ancient oak tree. Ian's back hits the trunk and leaves flutter down all around them.

"I know." Mickey smirked, leaning in to lick a wet, fat stripe along Ian's collarbone and down his chest. He sinks his teeth into Ian's pec, delighted at the pained gasp that slips past Ian's lips. Mickey falls unceremoniously to his knees, his hands going straight to Ian's belt.

Ian watches, wide eyed, as Mickey works his pants open. "How could you possibly know I'm a top?" he chokes out as Mickey takes his dick in hand and starts stroking.

Mickey chuckles, leaning down to run his tongue along the head of Ian's cock. Ian shudders, his hips jerking. "Guys give off vibes." he says, looking up into Ian's eyes as he works his dick agonizingly slow. He smirked as Ian's eyes rolled back in his head.  "You give off  top vibes for days. That urge to dominate, to reduce someone to a puddle of desire. To be the sole reason for that person's pleasure. You get off on that shit."

Ian laughed, shaking his head. It's not like it wasn't true, it was just strange to hear Mickey say it like that. "Okay, yeah."

"Called it." Mickey chuckled, suddenly engulfing Ian's dick, moving his mouth down until his nose was nestled the tuft of soft hair in Ian's groin.

"Oh fuck." Ian moaned, his hands flying up to Mickey's hair. He pulled at the dark locks, rolling his head along the trunk of the tree as Mickey totally destroyed him with his mouth.

Mickey bobbed his head, reveling in the taste of Ian. His cock was huge, heavy on his tongue, splitting his lips wide as he took him deep over and over. Mickey ran his hands up Ian's thighs, his fingernails digging into the material of his pants. God, he can't wait til he can get this guy naked. His chest is cut, and his abs are insane. Mickey can only imagine what the rest of him looks like. He knows he'll get his chance, and that fact only spurs him on more.

Ian's eyes are locked on Mickey's head as it bobs in his lap. Every once in a while, Mickey's eyes will shoot up and lock with Ian's, and Ian swears he can feel how much Mickey wants him. He wonders if Mickey is sending him vibes right now. Does he do that? Send his emotions out like that during sex?

Fuck it, he'll ask later. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of Mickey working him so well with his mouth. He cries out into the night as Mickey tugs his pants down to his knees so he can run his fingers along his thighs. His nails bite into the tender skin before he digs his fingers into the meat of his ass, pulling Ian in deeper with a hard grip.

Ian moans, his hips bucking involuntarily. He glances down at Mickey, nervous, but Mickey is staring up at him with hungry, lust blown eyes, and Ian swears his dick gets harder just from that look alone. He starts to roll his hips, tentative at first, but when he hears a muffled moan slip past Mickey's stretched lips, he loses all semblance of control, and next thing he knows, he's fucking Mickey's face, fast and hard. Ian's hand comes around to cradle the back of Mickey skull, a strangely tender action given the circumstances. Mickey's hands grip his hips hard as Ian takes his pleasure. The only sounds in the forrest are the crackling of the fire, Mickey's obscene slurping, and Ian's ball slapping against his chin.

Suddenly, Ian's hands are pushing Mickey away. He lets his dick fall from his mouth as he sways on his knees, lightheaded. He's breathing heavy, but he's smiling. He wipes at his sloppy mouth with his hand, grinning up at Ian.

"Sorry." Ian smiles sheepishly, extending his hand. Mickey takes it, allowing himself to be lifted up to his feet. "Don't wanna blow before we get to the good shit."

"Hair trigger?" Mickey chuckles, letting Ian maneuver him until he's braced on the oak tree, feet spread wide.

"Fuck off." Ian chuckles, reaching around to unzip Mickey's fly. "Don't act like you don't know how brutal your oral skills are." he attaches his lips to the back of Mickey's neck as he works his pants down to his ankles. "This ass, Jesus. I can't even put into words how I feel about this." he says reverently, running his hand along the muscle before cupping it with both hands.

"You can write sonnets about it later, if you want, but I need you to fuck it right now." Mickey sighs as Ian bites his shoulder. "We're standing with our dicks out, at a party with all our family. Gotta get a move on."

Ian laughs, kissing Mickey's neck before leaning back to spit onto his fingers.

"What?" Mickey asks, glancing at Ian over his shoulder. "You don't bring lube to all your sabbat celebrations?"

"Do you have any?" Ian shot back, rubbing his slick fingers along the crack of Mickey's ass, delighting in the groan he pulled from the other man. Mickey gave a breathless laugh, shaking his head.

"Alright then, shut the fuck up." Ian laughed, sliding his middle finger into Mickey's ass slowly. Mickey groaned, pushing back against the intrusion, his hips rocking.

Mickey is totally lost, swimming in the intense pleasure of Ian lazily fingering him, and the potent experience of their energies dancing together. The longer the foreplay lasts, the more the energy builds, and suddenly Mickey is keening and pushing back harder. Waves of hunger and lust and passion are rolling off of Ian and crashing against Mickey's soul, and for a moment he thinks he may come just from the way Ian feels about him.

"Enough." Mickey chokes out, his fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, staving off his impending orgasm. "Get the fuck in me, or I'm gonna come just from you."

Ian smiles against the back of Mickey's neck, his fingers slipping free. "You mean, you could come just from feeling how bad I want you?"

"Dude, we can discuss the intricacies of being an empath at a later date. Put your fucking dick in me."

"I don't have a condom." Ian sighs, gripping his erection and sliding along the crack of Mickey's ass, rubbing the tip against his stretched hole.

"I'm clean." Mickey ground out, thrusting his hips back, trying to impale himself on Ian's erection.

"Me too." Ian replied, one of his hands coming up to wrap around Mickey's bare chest as he grips his dick in the other, placing it at Mickey's entrance. He watches with wide eyes as he breeches Mickey, the head of his cock slipping inside.

Mickey hisses. The burn is expected with no lube, but Ian is fucking huge. His fingers dig into the bark of the tree as Ian shimmies his hips, sliding in agonizingly slow. Mickey rolls his eyes, throwing his hips back until Ian is buried fully inside him.

"Holy fuck." Ian gasps. His body falls forward, his chest against Mickey's back.  His hands slide down to his hips, gripping hard as he starts to roll his hips. "So tight, fuck. You feel so good."

"Yeah, yeah." Mickey sighs, pushing back against Ian's thrusts. He knows he's babbling, but he can't really form a coherent thought with Ian's huge cock splitting him in half and his amorous feelings soaking into Mickey's skin. "So good, god that cock. C'mon, give it to me."

Ian moans, licking  along Mickey's shoulder, inhaling deeply. He smells amazing. Like sandalwood and magic and everything Ian's ever loved. He can't get enough, getting high of his scent alone.

Mickey tilts his head to the side, waiting. Ian doesn't disappoint, dipping his head down and capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. Their tongues slide against each other as Ian fucks Mickey hard against the trunk of the tree.

Ian's hands roam along Mickey's bare sides, his fingertips dancing along the pale skin. Mickey is beautiful in the firelight. Ian rolls his hips, drowning in the sounds pouring from Mickey's lips. Gentle sighs or pained grunts, each one is music to Ian's ears.

Mickey turns his head, resting his forehead on the trunk of the tree as Ian takes him hard. He pushes his hips back as best he can, pinned like he is, wanting to take Ian as deep as he can. His body is on fire, pulsing with pleasure and want. A thin sheen of sweat is breaking out on his skin, and as it is cooled by the autumn breeze, Mickey shivers. Ian leans in closer, blanketing his body with his own, his thrusts turning shallow and searching.

"Kiss me." Ian whispers against Mickey's neck, and Mickey can't deny him. He turns his head again, and Ian is there, kissing him fervently. His tongue invades his mouth, his being feeding his very soul.

"Oh fuck, right there." Mickey moans into Ian's mouth as he hits his prostate dead on. Mickey can feel a rush of pride flow through him and he smiles. Ian is please with his performance. As he should be. He's absolutely destroying Mickey. "Fuck, don't stop. I'm gonna come."

Ian moans, redoubling his effort to reduce Mickey to a whimpering mess of pleasure.

Mickey extends a shaky hand down, grabbing his bobbing dick. He cries out as Ian pulses deep inside him, stroking his cock in time with Ian's desperate rutting. "Oh my god." he cries out, spilling all over the abused oak tree.

An animalistic sound rumbles out of Ian's chest as his grip on Mickey's hips tightens. He can feel the skin tear under Ian's fingernails, but Mickey doesn't complain. He just moans again, throwing his hips back into each one of Ian's thrusts. "C'mon, man. Fill me up."

As if on command, Ian throws his head back with a wail, his orgasm washing over him in an intense rush. He pumps his hips until he's totally spent, resting his head on Mickey's shoulder. They both stay still for a moment, catching their breath and coming down from their shared high.

"Well, damn." Mickey says when Ian finally steps back, slipping free from Mickey. Mickey winces at the loss, and the mess that he's now covered in, but he dismisses it.

Worth it. Totally worth it.

They both pull their pants up before grabbing their shirts off the ground. Mickey sighs, taking in all the dirt and debris on his favorite dress shirt, but he dismisses that too.

Still worth it.

Once they are dressed, they drop down on the log in front of the dwindling fire. Mickey pulls a cigarette from his pack, lighting it and taking a soothing drag before passing it to Ian. Ian takes it with a nod of thanks, inhaling deeply before passing it back. He tips his head back, blowing the smoke into the darkness of the night sky.

"So...." Ian says after a beat of silence.

"So..." Mickey replies, flicking the ash on the ground.

"I knew something like this was coming," Ian admits, a little blown away at his current reality. "But I had no idea it was going to be like this."

"You knew what was coming?" Mickey asks, scooting closer to Ian, craving contact. He nuzzled up against Ian's arm until the other man got the hint and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. Mickey's not usually like this. Cuddling after sex is not something he regularly does. He normally wouldn't spare the man a second glance after he put his dick away.

But Ian is different. Everything about him is different. Mickey can feel Ian deep in his bones. His intentions, his desires, his hopes. It's different from the echos of feelings he gets from other people. It's not a whisper or a fleeting flash of emotion. He can feel Ian like he feels himself. Like he is a part of Ian, and Ian is a part of him.

"I knew you were coming." Ian replies, pulling Mickey out of his head. "I did a reading this morning. I pulled three cards. The Fool, the Lovers, and Death."

"Oh shit." Mickey says, staring at Ian with wide eyes. He's no reader, but any good witch is versed in a little bit of tarot. "So, what am I, Death?" he chuckled.

"Ha ha." Ian deadpanned. "Do you not believe in tarot?"

"Ian," Mickey sighed. "I'm an empath witch who sees people's feelings in technicolor, I believe in pretty much everything."

Ian chuckled, shaking his head. "Anyway, I had a feeling when I came here tonight that big things were gonna go down. When my family got invited back into the coven, I thought that was it. The big upheaval, the change that would start me on the new path of my life. But now..." he said lowly, reaching down and linking their fingers together. "Now, I think it was you. The thing that's going to change my life." he glanced up at Mickey, almost afraid of what he would see. But looking into Mickey's eyes, all he saw was amusement, and a little bit of veneration.

"I can still feel you." Mickey smiles, clutching the  back of Ian's neck and pulling  him down so their foreheads are touching. "Your energy is addicting." he smiles, leaning in to press their lips together. The kiss is soft and full of promise. Mickey melts into it, soaking Ian's passion for him into his being, swimming in the feeling. "You really dig me." he whispers against Ian's lips.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Ian chuckles, pressing his palms to Mickey's cheeks, pulling him back to his mouth. Ian closes his eyes, sending a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for giving him such a gift.

"Whatever you want, man." Mickey smiles. "Whatever the fuck you want." Mickey is done. He knew the moment he saw Ian, that shit was about to go sideways. But he's not the scared little kid he used to be when he lived under Terry's thumb. And he knows to follow these feelings when he gets them. And he's never once had a feeling like this in his life.

Ian's it. He's the one.

Mickey doesn't need any cards or spells to tell  him that.

"We better get back up there before someone comes looking for us." Ian says, moving to stand.

"Yeah." Mickey nods, standing as well. "Kind of can't believe we just did that. Pretty risky."

Ian laughed, linking their fingers together as he stepped around the fire.

"What's life without a little risk?"

"Boring as fuck." Mickey replied, earning himself a chuckle from Ian.

Ian starts leading Mickey up the path and back toward the party. The feeling of their intertwined fingers sends a jolt of excitement rushing through his body. Mickey chuckles next to him, and Ian knows right away that Mickey felt that too.

"So what do we do now?" Ian asks, just as the step out of the woods and back into the field. The party is in full swing around them, but it still feels like it's just the two of them.

"How about we get a few more cups of ale, enjoy them, then say our goodbyes. You can come back to mine, if you want." Mickey says lowly, staring at their intertwined fingers. The image warms Mickey's heart, and for the first time in his life, he's got true hope for his future.

This coven, and Ian are his future.

Mickey smiles to himself as Ian leans in, pressing a tender kiss to the side of his neck. He pulls Mickey toward his family, probably intent on telling them all about him, and their strange, instant connection. He's surprised to find he's not nervous or worried about that at all. He finds that he could probably face anything with Ian by his side, and his bright, shining aura surrounding him.

Soulmates.

The words pops into his head for the second time that night, but this time it's his mother's voice he hears utter the word.

The significance of this moment hits Mickey like a ton of bricks.

Mickey's whole body vibrates with a warm, tranquil, passionate love. He's not sure if it's coming from Ian or himself, but he finds that he doesn't care.

He has a feeling, from now on, he and Ian are going to be one in the same.

"Fucking kiss me." Mickey whispers, tugging Ian to him with the tight grip he has on his hand. Ian's forward motion stops and he turns on the spot. He pulls Mickey into his arms, wrapping him up in a tight hug. Mickey tilts his head up, his eyes bright and a wide smile spitting his lips.

"If you insist." Ian smiles, dipping his head and sighing as Mickey kisses him deeply. Once again, the world melts away, and it's just the two of them. Mickey can feel their mixed energy swirling around them, getting him higher than any drug ever could.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Ian whispers against Mickey's lips.

"I might now." Mickey laughs lowly, pulling Ian back to his mouth.

They are so lost in each other, they don't notice the eyes on them across the field.

"What do you think that's about?" Fiona asks, only slightly shocked to see her brother sucking face with Mickey fucking Milkovich.

Shelia just smiles, laying a hand on Fiona's shoulder.

"That, my dear, is the soul-bond connection." she sighs, "Very rare, and very beautiful."

"Wait." Fiona says, her eyes flitting between Shelia and the amorous couple. "What are you saying? Are they meant to be? Anointed by the Gods? Soulmates?"

"Indeed." Shelia beams, clearly elated. "What's the term you young people use?"

Fiona just shakes her head, still having a hard time processing this turn of events. "I don't know, what?"

Shelia taps her chin, considering. Her face lights up and she turns to Fiona, triumphant grin on her face.

"Endgame, my dear." Shelia nods, her eyes falling back to the canoodling couple. She can see big things in their future. "Those two right there are endgame."

**Author's Note:**

> This one is my favorite halloween fic I wrote. Being a witch myself, makes it special to me.


End file.
